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In The Twilight
By
Annie Besant
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.
The Secret Doctrine by H P Blavatsky
Return to Searchable Text Index
Chronology
of Articles
(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.1
“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
Sweden of an apparition at the time of death, seen by sixteen
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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 St. Thomas, her last port of
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
midnight,
after directing the first officer, who was on watch, to keep the
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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 America and elsewhere, and then it was
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 India.
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
Temple, there
was a great rushing air-like movement in the body of the hall, and
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 London she was very tired. I had never heard her
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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 India, and
the Yogî criticised in strong language the demeanor and general
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 London fog. And because there
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
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
ranging about
and sweeping over areas of adjoining land as neophytes will - just
as a
fox-terrier runs on ahead and returns again and makes excursions on each
side, and
covers three or four times the ground trodden by the man whom he
accompanies.
My young friend who had a few days before saved the life of the
officer
suddenly came rushing up in his usual impulsive way to say that he had
discovered
something wrong - a boy dying down under the ground, as he put it.”
“Investigation
soon revealed a child of perhaps eight years old lost in the
inmost
recesses of a huge cavern, far from the light of day, apparently dying of
hunger,
thirst and despair. The case reminded me somewhat of the “Angel Story”
in Invisible
Helpers, and seemed to require much the same kind of treatment; so
on this
occasion as on that I materialised the young helper. In this instance it
was necessary
also to provide a light, as we were physically in utter darkness;
so the
half-fainting child was roused from his stupor by finding a boy with an
amazingly
brilliant lantern bending over him. The first and most pressing need
was obviously
water, and there was a rill not far away, though the exhausted
child could
not have reached it. We had no cup; we could have made one, of
course, but
my eager neophyte did not think of that, but rushed off and brought
a drink of
water in his hollowed hands. This revived the child so much that he
was able to
sit up, and after two more similarly provided draughts he was able
to speak a
little.”
“He said that
he lived in the next valley, but on rising through the earth and
looking round
(leaving my materialised boy to cheer the sufferer, so that he
should not
feel deserted) I could not find anything answering to this
description,
and I had to return to the child and make him think of his home so
as to get a
mental picture of it, and then issue forth again with the image
photographed
in my mind. Then I found the house, but further away than he had
described it.
There were several people there, and I tried to impress them with
the child's
predicament, but was unfortunately unsuccessful; not one of them
seemed in the
least receptive, and I could not convey my ideas clearly to them.
They were
much troubled about the child's absence, and had been seeking for him;
indeed they
had just sent to gather some neighbors from their valleys to make a
more thorough
search; and perhaps it may have been partly because of their
preoccupation
that they were hopelessly unimpressible.”
“Long enough
persistence would probably have broken down the barriers, but the
child's state
left us no time for that, so I abandoned the task and looked round
for available
food to dematerialise, for as it was the child's own home I felt
that he had a
right to it, and that it would not be dishonest. I hurriedly
selected some
bread, some cheese, and two fine big apples, and hastened back to
the cave, and
re-materialised this miscellaneous plunder in the eager hands of
my neophyte,
who proceeded to feed the child. The latter was soon able to attend
to his own
wants, and quickly finished every scrap that I had brought, and asked
for more, I
feared lest too much, after a prolonged fast, should do more harm
than good, so
I told my representative to say that he had no more, and that we
must now try
to get out of the cave.”
“With a view
to that I suggested to my boy to ask the other how he got in. His
story was
that he had been rambling about on the hills in a valley near his
home, and had
observed a small cave in the hill-side, which he had never noticed
before. He
naturally went in to investigate, but he had not walked more than a
few yards
when the floor of the cave gave way under him, and he was precipitated
into a far
vaster cavern beneath. From his account he must have been stunned for
a time, for
when he ‘awoke’, as he put it, it was quite dark, and he could not
see the hole
through which he had fallen. We afterwards inspected the spot and
wondered that
he had not been badly hurt, for the fall was a considerable one,
but it had
been broken for him by the fact that a mass of soft earth had fallen
underneath
him.”
“It was
impossible to get him up that way, for the sides of the cave were smooth
and
perpendicular; besides he had wandered for two whole days among the
galleries and
was now some miles from that spot. After a good deal of
prospecting
we found, within a reasonable distance, a place where a little
stream passed
from the cave into the open air on a hill-side; the child, now
strengthened
by food and drink, was able to walk there, and the two boys soon
enlarged the
opening with their hands so that he was able to crawl out. It was
evident that
now he would be able to get home in any case, and we also hoped to
be able to
influence some of the searchers to come in that direction, so this
seemed a
favorable opportunity to part company.”
“The father
had a plan of search fixed in his mind - a scheme of examining the
valleys in a
certain order - and no suggestion of ours could make him deviate
from it; but
fortunately there was in the party a dog who proved more
impressionable,
and when he seized the trouser-leg of one of the farm-men and
tried to draw
him in our direction the man thought there might be some reason
for it, and
so yielded, and followed the dog. Thus by the time that the child
was safely
out of the cave the man and the dog were already within a few miles.
The child
naturally begged his mysterious newly-found friend to accompany him
home, and
clung to him with touching gratitude, but the helper was obliged
gently to
tell him that he could not do that, as he had other business; but he
convoyed him
to the top of a ridge from which he could see the farm-hand far
away on the
other side of the valley. A shout soon attracted his attention, and
as soon as
that was certain, our young helper said good-bye to the boy whom he
had rescued,
sent him off running feebly towards his friends, and then himself
promptly
dematerialised.”
“The small
boy who was helped can never have had the slightest idea that his
rescuer was
anything but purely physical; he asked one or two inconvenient
questions,
but was easily diverted from dangerous ground. Perhaps his relations,
when he comes
to tell his story, may find more difficulty than he did in
accounting
for the presence in a lonely place of a casual stranger of decidedly
non-bucolic
appearance; but at any rate it will be impossible in this case to
bring any
such evidence of non-physical intervention as was available in the
parallel
instance quoted in Invisible Helpers.”
“A sad case
in which it was not possible to do much directly was that of three
little
children belonging to a drunken mother. She received some trifling
pension on
account of them, and therefore could not at first be induced to part
with them,
though she neglected them shamefully and seemed to feel but little
affection for
them. The eldest of them was only ten years of age, and the
conditions
surrounding them, mentally, astrally and etherically, were as bad as
they could
be. The mother seemed for the time quite beyond the reach of any
higher
influence, though many efforts had been made to appeal to her better
nature. The
only thing that could be done was to leave my young assistant by the
bed-side of
the children to ward off patiently from them the horrible
thought-forms
and the coarse living entities which clustered so thickly round
the degraded
mother. Eventually I showed the neophyte how to make a strong shell
round the
children and to set artificial elementals to guard them as far as
might be.”
“A difficulty
here is that nature-spirits will not work under such horrible
conditions,
and though of course they can be forced to do so by certain magical
ceremonies,
this plan is not adopted by those who work under the Great White
Lodge. We
accept only willing co-operation, and we cannot expect entities at the
level of
development of such nature-spirits as would be used in a case of this
kind to have
already acquired such a spirit of self-sacrifice as would cause
them
voluntarily to work amidst surroundings so terrible to them. Mere
thought-forms,
of course, can be made and left to work under any conditions, but
the
intelligent living co-operation of a nature-spirit to ensoul such forms can
be had only
when the nature-spirit is reasonably at ease in his work.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (10)
first
published in the Theosophist, Jan, 1910, p517-524
“I am sure
you will be glad to hear,” began the Shepherd, “that we have very
satisfactory
progress to report with regard to the case of the mother and
children
which I mentioned to you at our last meeting. Determined efforts were
made upon the
physical plane as well as upon the astral, and I am happy to say
that they
were eventually crowned with at least temporary success. The two elder
children have
been sent to a children's Home, and though the mother still
retains the
youngest with her, she has been persuaded to put herself under the
care of some
religious friends, and is at present a reformed character.”
“It may
interest you to hear of some other adventures which have since befallen
the same
neophyte whose work I have already partially described to you. There
are in astral
work many cases in which continuous action is necessary - that is
to say, in
which someone who is willing to take the trouble must, as it were,
stand over
the person who requires assistance, and be constantly ready to give
it. Naturally
those who are in charge of a vast assortment of varied astral work
cannot with
justice devote themselves to this extent to any single case, so that
usually some
relation of the sufferer is put in charge. An instance of this
nature came
in our way on that occasion.”
“A man
recently dead, whom I had been asked (by a relation of his) to help, was
found to be
in a state of terrible depression, surrounded by a vast cloud of
gloomy
thought, in the midst of which he felt himself utterly helpless and
impotent. His
life had been far from spotless, and there were those whom he had
injured who
thought of him often with malice and revenge in their hearts. Such
thought-forms
acted upon him through the clouds of depression, fastened
themselves
upon him like leeches and sucked out from him all vitality and hope
and buoyancy,
leaving him a prey to the most abject despair.”
“I spoke to
him as hopefully as I could, and pointed out to him that though it
was quite
true that his life had not been all that it should have been, and that
there was in
a certain way much justification for the way in which others were
regarding
him, it was nevertheless both wrong and useless to give way to
despair. I
explained to him that he was doing very serious harm to a surviving
relation by
his depression, since these thoughts of his, quite without his own
volition,
constantly reacted upon her and made her life one of utter misery. I
told him that
while the past could not be undone, at least its effects might be
minimised by
the endeavor to hold a calm front in the presence of the dislike
which he had
brought upon himself by his actions, and that he should endeavor to
respond to it
by kindly wishes, instead of by alternating gusts of hatred and
despair. In
fact the main text of my sermon was that he must forget himself and
his sorrows
and think only of the effect of his attitude upon his surviving
relation.”
“The poor
fellow responded to this, though only in a very half-hearted way; he
said that he
would really try, and he certainly meant it, but I could see that
he had very
little hope of success, or perhaps I should rather say that he had
no hope at
all, but felt quite certain beforehand that he was foredoomed to
failure. I
told him plainly all this; I broke up the rings of depression which
shut him in,
and dissipated the dark clouds which surrounded him, so that the
unkindly
thought-forms of those whom he had injured should have less upon which
they could
fasten. For the moment he seemed almost cheerful, as I held before
him a strong
thought-image of the surviving relation, whom he had deeply loved,
and he said:”
“‘While you
are here I seem to understand, and I almost think that I can resist
the despair,
but I know that, as you say, my courage will fade as soon as you
are gone.’”
“So I told
him that this must not be so - that hopeless as he felt now, every
determined
effort to conquer the despair would make it easier to do so next
time, that he
must regard this resistance as a duty in which he could not allow
himself to
fail. I had to go about my business, but I asked my young assistant
to stay by
this man for a while, to watch the accumulation of the depressing
thoughts, and
to break them up determinedly every time that they took hold of
the victim. I
knew that if this was done for a number of times we should
eventually
reach a condition in which the man could resist for himself, and
maintain his
own position, although from long-continued submission he had at
first
scarcely any strength to maintain the struggle. My young friend kept up
this battle
for some two or three hours, until the dark thoughts came much less
frequently
and the man himself was becoming able to a large extent to hold his
own, so that the
helper felt himself justified in returning to me.”
“He was just
about to take his departure, leaving a few last strong encouraging
thoughts for
the now almost cheerful sufferer, when he saw a little girl in the
astral body
flying in headlong terror before some kind of hobgoblin of the
conventional
ogre type. He promptly put himself in the way, saying ‘What is
this?’ and
the frightened child clung to him convulsively and pointed to the
pursuing
demon. The helper has since admitted that he did not at all like the
look of it
himself, but he seems to have felt somewhat indignant on behalf of
the girl, and
his instructions were that to anything whatever of this nature a
bold front
must always be shown. So he stood his ground and set his will against
the ogre,
which did not approach them, but remained at a little distance
writhing
about, gnashing its huge projecting teeth, and evidently trying to make
itself as
terrible as possible.”
“As the
situation showed no signs of changing, the neophyte presently became
impatient,
but he had been warned against aggressive action of any kind except
under very
definite instructions, so he did not know precisely what to do. He
therefore
came in search of me, bringing the terrified child with him, but
moving very
slowly and circumspectly and always keeping his face towards the
unpleasant-looking
object which followed them persistently at a little
distance.”
“When I had
time to attend to him, I investigated the question, and found that
this poor
little child was frequently subject to these horrible nightmares, from
which her
physical body would wake up in quite a convulsive condition, sometimes
with terrible
shrieks. The pursuing entity was nothing but an unpleasant
thought-form
temporarily animated by a mischievous nature-spirit of a low-type,
who seemed to
be in great glee and to derive a kind of spiteful pleasure from
the terrors
of the girl. I explained all this to the children, and the indignant
boy promptly
denounced the nature-spirit as wicked and malicious, but I pointed
out to him
that it was no more so than a cat playing with a mouse, and that
entities at
such a low stage of evolution were simply following their
undeveloped
natures, and therefore could not rightly be described as wicked.”
“At the same
time their foolish mischief could not be allowed to cause suffering
and terror to
human beings, so I showed him how to set his will against the
nature-spirit,
and drive it out from the form, and then how to dissipate the
form by a
definite effort of the will. The little girl was half-fearful, but
wholly
delighted, when she saw her ogre explode, and there is reason to hope
that she will
gain courage from this experience, and that for the future her
sleep will be
less disturbed. There are many varieties of unpleasant
thought-forms
to be found on the astral plane, the worst of all being those
connected
with false and foolish religious beliefs - demons of various kinds,
and angry
deities. It is quite allowable for the Occultist to destroy such
creatures,
since they are in no way really alive, that is to say, they represent
no permanent
evolving life, but are simply temporary creations.”
“A case of
some interest which has just come under our notice is that of a
brother and
sister, who had been very closely attached to one another in youth.
Unfortunately,
later, a designing woman came between them; the brother came
under her
influence and was taught by her to suspect his sister's motives. The
sister quite
reasonably distrusted the other woman and warned the brother
against her;
the warning was not taken in good part and a serious breach ensued.
The
infatuation of the brother lasted for more than a year, and all this time
the sister
held entirely aloof, for she had been grossly insulted and was proud
and
unforgiving. By degrees the brother discovered the true character of the
woman, though
for long he would not believe it, and clung to his delusions. Even
when it was
impossible longer to maintain his blind faith he still remained
somewhat sore
with regard to his sister, persuading himself somehow that but for
her
interference, as he called it, the other woman might have remained faithful
to him, so
that the estrangement still persisted, even though the reasons for it
had largely
passed out of the brother's life.”
“In this case
the best thing to do seemed to be to set two assistants to work,
one with the
brother and one with the sister, to call up permanently before
their minds
pictures of the old days when they loved each other so dearly.
Presently,
after these currents had been thoroughly set going, I taught the
assistants
how to make artificial elementals which would continue this
treatment. Of
course it must have seemed to the brother and sister simply that
thoughts of
the other one persistently arose in the mind of each - that all
sorts of
unexpected little happenings came to remind them of happier times. For
a long time
pride held out, but at last the brother responded to the constant
suggestion,
went to call on his sister, and found her unexpectedly gracious,
forgiving,
and glad to see him. Reconciliation was instantly effected, and it is
little likely
now that they will allow any cloud to come between them again.”
“What you say
about unpleasant thought-forms,” remarked Chitra, “reminds me that
two tears ago
in a country town I stayed in a hotel for the month of April; this
is a month of
very changeable weather, so that often travellers have great
difficulty in
getting articles of clothing dried in time for packing, and I on
this occasion
was obliged to leave one garment - a thick woven night-dress - to
be sent after
me. It did not arrive at the promised time and although I several
times wrote
enquiring about it, I was still without it in the April of the
following
year, so I wrote again asking the proprietress of the hotel to have it
awaiting me
in my room when I returned, as I meant to do, in a few days. I
arrived in
due course and, as I expected, was greeted by a sudden change in the
weather; from
the heat of summer we were plunged straight into the frosts of
winter, the
snow-capped hills close at hand sending an icy breath down upon us.
I called at
the hotel at mid-day and made all arrangements for returning that
night;
meantime rain came in torrents and the owners of the hotel, who were
spending the
evening at a friend's house, left the servants to attend to
travellers so
that when I went to my room I found no night-dress and no one knew
anything
about it, nor about me, save my name and the number of my room. I
retired to
rest wearing another garment and slept dreamlessly until awakened
about 1 am by
the proprietress, who was uneasy at my being without my
night-dress,
so had brought it to me; she knew I had no luggage with me so could
not have
another.”
“I fell
asleep again directly I put my head down, and then had a dreadful dream,
so real that
even when sitting up awake and trembling I could scarcely realise
that it was
only a dream. I thought I heard loud angry voices in the bar; this
was
impossible, as I was in a new part of the hotel and too far from the bar to
hear
anything; then the voices seemed to come closer and I saw a small group of
men fighting
in the middle of the road; one of them drew a knife and struck at
the man in
front of him, while another separated from the group, ran into the
hotel, and
upstairs to the door of my room, the handle of which he tried to turn
and then
rattled violently.”
“Telling
myself that it was folly to be so alarmed at a dream I lay down again,
and again
fell immediately asleep, and at once heard the same noise of
quarrelling,
but this time the men were on the balcony before my window and in
the passage
near the door, and two men with horrible drunken faces were getting
in at my
window which they had pushed up from below. I sat up trembling with
terror and
disgust, wide awake, and listened; there was not a sound. I rose and
looked out
over the balcony into the quiet country street; the rain had ceased
and the moon
shone brightly on the pools in the road, not a creature was visible
and no sound,
there was not even a breeze. Returning to bed I said to myself:
‘This is
absurd: what can be the matter with me?’ and promptly went to sleep
again; this
time the return of the dream was instantaneous, one of the men -
drunk and
horrible - came in at the door and clutched my throat, and while
others fought
on the balcony, two got half in at the window. I sprang up,
trembling and
with the perspiration streaming from me, and the thought: ‘It is
the
night-dress,’ suddenly darted into my mind. I took it off, rolled it into a
ball and
threw it to the furthest corner of the room, than fell asleep again and
slept
peacefully till morning.”
“After
breakfast I asked: ‘What happened that you kept my night-dress so long?’”
“‘Oh,’ was
the answer ‘now that you have it safe I don't mind telling you that
it was lost
for two or three months. The day after that on which you left was
fine, so I
had it dried and ready to send off by mail time; I rolled it in brown
paper and
addressed it, then found I had no string, so gave the parcel to the
barman to tie
up and post; he was called out of the bar for a few minutes and
left it lying
there, meantime a boy took his place and noticing the parcel which
was gradually
coming undone, lying there, took it for a roll of paper, picked it
up and threw
it into the bar cupboard.’”
“There it had
lain among old bottles and dusters and in the atmosphere of drink
and its
accompaniments for nearly three months. When it was discovered it was
washed and
put out in the sun for some days, and when given to me was to all
appearance
sweet and clean; yet it retained enough of the magnetism of the bar
to give me a
very horrible time.”
“A year
before this experience with the magnetised night-dress, in the same
house and the
same month (April) I had gathered a small group of people around
me and formed
a Branch of the Theosophical Society. On the night of the
formation of
that Branch I retired to my room rather later than usual, very
happy and
rather excited, as this was the first Branch I had been instrumental
in forming by
myself.”
“I was
standing fastening up my hair and rejoicing over the evening's work when
suddenly a
dark-grey, noisome, mist-cloud seemed to be descending upon me. I was
filled with
dread and looked up towards the roof almost expecting to see it, but
no, nothing
was visible, so I tried to go on with the binding up of my hair, but
found that I
was unable to move my arms which had dropped to my sides with the
start. I
stood perfectly still, unable to move a finger while this grey
mist-extinguisher
came slowly down upon me and enveloped me in its paralysing
folds; then I
heard, spoken without a voice: ‘You wicked woman,’ ‘a wicked
woman,’
‘wicked woman’, repeated three times and with the words came a most
awful feeling
of isolation and misery. Unable to stir, but quite able to think,
I stood, for
what seemed minutes but was probably only seconds, wondering what
was
happening, when the voice or rather the words came: ‘now you know what a
lost soul
feels like,’ ‘wicked woman’. This roused me and I answered aloud:”
“‘I'm not a
lost soul, and I'm not a wicked woman. I'm glad I've been able to
form a Branch
of the Theosophical Society here, and I'll do it again wherever I
can.’”
“At this the
cloud began first to thin, and then to lift until it was once more
above my head,
and my arms lost their rigidity.”
“I stood
coiling my hair and wondering what it all meant, when I again felt the
cloud
descending and bringing with it the same feeling of loneliness and misery,
but I kept it
at bay saying:”
“‘Keep off;
I'll do it again, I tell you, and I'm glad I did it.’”
“Twice it
tried to descend but I succeeded in keeping it at bay; and I went to
bed wondering
what had caused it.”
“A year after
when visiting the same place I was told that a very narrow
religious
sect there had held a prayer-meeting on that night asking God to turn
me out of the
district because of my wickedness in teaching Theosophy, and had
used these
words ‘a wicked woman’, and repeated them over and over again, also
concentrating
on preventing me from continuing in my work. I had caught their
thought-forms,
the combined thought-form of the meeting, and strange to say not
till long
afterwards did I think of protecting myself in the way I've told
dozens of
other people to protect themselves in under like circumstances.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (11)
first
published in the Theosophist, Feb, 1910, p640-645
“Any stories
this evening?” queried the Shepherd.
“The Fiddler
has something I believe,” said the Prince.
“Well if it
is something that can be told - ?” said the Shepherd, turning to her
with a little
hesitation.
“Yes, it is
what I was telling you about this morning,” answered the Fiddler
with a smile;
and then added, “but I don't see that it is too intimate for the
Twilight
talk. We are all friends here. Provided a thing helps people, I always
think that
too great reticence is a mistake.”
“Well, go
ahead then”, said the Shepherd.
“A little while
ago, you will remember that I had to journey suddenly from here
to Calcutta;
thence to Benares, and Allahabad; back again to Benares and
Calcutta and
home to Adyar. It is a long weary road from here to Benares. You
start on a
Sunday, we will say, and arrive there on Wednesday at the hottest
time of day.
These journeyings were fitted into some ten days; and in between,
there was a
strain of sorrowful labor for friends and loved ones.”
“We
understand,” said the Shepherd kindly.
“And - well,
there was personal grief too,” continued the Fiddler, “and I
suppose I had
more to do and to bear than my physical body could stand. It was
fairly
bearable at my halting places; but when I was being whirled across India,
alone in the
train, I felt pretty ‘down’, as they say. Oddly enough, I was
alone, except
for a few hours, during all that way, back and forth. Servants do
not count; on
most of the Indian trains there is no means of getting at them
while in
motion, a most unpractical arrangement. Between Calcutta and Benares,
alone in a
first-class compartment one night, suddenly a faintness came over me.
I am not a
‘fainting lady’”, explained the Fiddler to the group, with a little
twinkle. “It
was sheer exhaustion, mental, emotional, and physical. I leaned out
of the
window, hoping that the cool night air might revive me, but I felt worse.
I went to my
sarai and took a draught of water, and poured some on my face. No
good. Things
were getting dim by now, and I just managed to stagger to the seat,
where I lay,
fast becoming unconscious. I was thinking vaguely. No means of
help, unless
I stopped the train. But blackness was rest ... rest ... A strong,
sweet,
penetrating smell suddenly pressed against my nostrils. Oh, how
delicious! I
sniffed it up, still dreaming. It grew stronger and stronger,
making me
gasp; and then I drew long, deep breaths. You know how you breath
towards the
end of an exhilarating walk?” - to the Magian - “well, like that.”
“How long did
that continue,” asked the Youth.
“I suppose it
must have been for three or four minutes,” answered the Fiddler,
“and with
full strength all the time. When I had completely recovered - ”
“In a
remarkably short time,” put in the Shepherd.
“I began to
investigate. The windows, eight of them, were wide open. No perfume
of strongest
Indian flower could have remained so long in such a draught, even
had it been
possible for it to have reached me, with the train going at full
speed. The
door between my compartment and the next was sealed tight. The
strongest
scent could not come through under those conditions though it might
have come in
whiffs when the train was stationary. But this wasn't a whiff; it
was a smell
of briar rose mixed with something like incense, with the power of a
scent upon a
saturated cloth pressed to your nose. Whence might this have come?
Needless to
say, I possess no perfumes?”
“It looks
rather like a case of the Christian ‘Guardian Angel’” said a voice.
“Yes”
continued the Fiddler. “A curious thing of that kind occurred to me again,
last evening,
in the cocoanut grove. I was pacing back and forth there, at the
time of
sunset, deeply immersed in a train of thought, and quite forgetful of
surroundings.
Turning in my walk and looking up, my attention was arrested by a
lovely figure
outlined in mid air, clear against the palm-tops, the radiance
surrounding
it, the stately compelling beauty - above all, the unmistakable
thrill that
it sent through me, made me recognise it in the dusk {dust} as my
Warner - or
someone at least of noble and lofty nature. I made deep obeisance.
The figure
vanished. I walked on, resuming the broken thread of reason in the
gathering
gloom, and was thinking very hard, oblivious to everything, even the
vision just
past. But into my mind one word inserted itself persistently:
‘Snake’. That
word formed a kind of accompaniment to my thoughts. It grew
stronger and
louder, until suddenly I swerved my foot, quite involuntarily, in
the very act
of treading on a snake! The quick move of the foot ‘brought me to
earth’, and
to a dead halt also. I peered on the ground where my foot should
have gone,
and there was the creature wriggling away to its hole?”
“Did you take
up your ‘thread of reason’ agai?”? queried the Scholar
mischievously.
“Yes - but on
another strand.” The Fiddler sighed: “It was on the nature of
matter, you
see, so this provided food for investigation?”
The Shepherd
smiled his largest smile as someone muttered: “You can't draw water
from
bottomless wells.”
“A friend of
mine,” said the Model of Reticence, “has sent me an account of a
distinctly
curious experience. He writes:”
“I was born
in 1853. My mother committed suicide in 1856 by voluntary drowning
herself in a well
owing to family quarrels. She attempted to throw me in the
well along
with herself, but at the last moment, she changed her mind and left
me in a
Brâhmana's house adjoining the well in which she was drowned. For some
years
afterwards my people were in constant touch with the deceased in dreams.
When I grew
older, I also saw her in my dreams. She talked to me for a quarter
of an hour
every time I dreamt, and used to kiss me and say kind words just as a
mother does
to her child. When I questioned her as to who she was to seat me in
her lap and
love me so fondly, she replied that she was my mother and out of her
motherly
affection was very anxious to see me now and then. Finally about twenty
years ago (in
my dream) she stood at my front gate and called me from inside the
house. I
immediately obeyed her call as I recognised her as my mother by our
many previous
meetings. She took me in her arms, a few yards beyond my house and
there seated
herself. With flowing tears she kissed me very touchingly for ten
minutes and
said: ‘Child, you won't see me hereafter; I am going to a distant
place. This
is my last visit to you. I hope you will get on well in the world
and earn a
good name. I know you are in the good grace of whomsoever you meet.
You will be
wanting nothing. God bless you with good attachment to all. I am
most
unfortunate to be deprived of the pleasure of enjoying your company as a
son.’ So
saying and seeing me shed tears when I heard of her permanent
separation, she
embraced me very closely, kissed me and went away. Never have I
seen her in
my dreams for these twenty years.”
“In April
last, two sisters each with a child aged six or seven years came from
Rajahmandry
to Nellore on their way to go to southern India, their native place.
Three were
drowned in the river Pennar at the bathing ghat. The eldest of the
lot was saved
by some one who threw a cloth to reach her when she was hovering
between life
and death.”
“Of course
two children and one of the mothers were lost in the deep water.
These three
dead bodies were taken out and an inquest held by the Police. At
that time I
casually went to see who they were and what had happened. To my
astonishment,
I found the living woman an acquaintance and as soon as she saw
me, she fell
on my feet and cried bitterly to save her. I took pity on her in
that
condition and resolved to help her as far as it lay in my power. I
interceded
with the inquest affair and took the whole responsibility of
disposing of
the dead bodies, to preserve their property and hand it over to the
proper
claimant. The woman told the inquest officer that I was her father and
the whole
affair must be left to me. Of course I arranged for the proper
cremation of
the deceased. I never saw such a grand funeral procession anywhere.
Thousands
followed the procession from the surrounding villages and the Nellore
town itself,
and the whole river was covered with people, with flowers, saffron
(red powder)
and betel-nuts. The funeral pyre was heaped with bunches of
flowers,
etc., by the female visitors who crowded by thousands. I could not find
space to
place fire on the bodies. Such was the fortune of that deceased woman
and children.
I was astonished to see how these bodies commanded so much
reverence in
a strange unknown place and how they received fire from my hand
with no
connexion or blood relationship between us. I performed the ceremony as
a dutiful son
does to his mother.”
“On that very
night, I had a dream in which a sâdhu with long beard, but with no
mark on the
forehead came to condole me and said: ‘You have done a most
charitable
deed. The deceased was your mother who took a final leave from you
about twenty
years ago and took this birth and received funeral fire from your
hand instead
of being disposed of by the hands of a chandâla, as circumstances
would have
compelled if you had not gone there. You have done your duty well.’
So saying, he
disappeared. The living woman and the property were handed over to
her husband,
who came from Rajahmandry Training College.”
Said a
member: “An FTS sends the following from Sweden: During the visit of the
Czar to
Stockholm last June a Swedish General by the name of Beckman was shot
down in one
of the city parks when returning home in the evening of the 26th. A
fellow-officer
of the victim, General Björlin, had been lying very ill for some
weeks at
Varberg, a small town on the west-coast of Sweden. The nurse who
attended him
relates the following incident which occurred on the night between
the 26th and
the 27th of June. On the 26th the General was very uneasy all day,
and uttered
several times, that somebody intended to hurt General Beckman, and
declared
repeatedly that some outrageous act would be performed in Stockholm
that day.
Towards evening the patient became still more excited and could not
stay in bed;
he got up, put on his dressing gown and began restlessly pacing the
floor. He
talked as if he were in Stockholm himself and would hurry to General
Beckman's
assistance. By eleven o'clock his nervousness had reached its climax,
and he
exclaimed suddenly: ‘Don't you hear the report of the gun? Don't you see
the smoke
after the shooting? I saw them shoot Beckman. Don't you see the blood
trickling
down on the ground?’ The General was very nervous most of the night
and did not
fall asleep until about 6 o'clock in the morning. When he woke up he
was restful
and calm, but said to the nurse: ‘When the newspaper comes, you will
see that
General Beckman has been shot’. At nine the daily paper arrived; the
General asked
to have it brought to him at once, and then found a detailed
account of
the accident he had so emphatically foretold.”
“Are there
any other stories?” asked the Shepherd after a pause. “We have still
a few minutes
left.”
The Fakir
volunteered:
“I remember a
French lady telling me, years ago, how her little girl had been
saved,
brought back apparently from the very jaws of death, by ... just letting
her go.”
“It was
diphtheria - a hopeless case. Tracheotomy had been performed, but in
vain. The
deadly film had spread beyond, and the doctor had left her that night,
giving no
hope.”
“The mother
knelt beside the bed, struggling with Fate, fighting God for her
child's life.
Being a strong-willed woman, she wrought herself into a state of
fearful
tension. Meanwhile, the child was sinking fast, breathing spasmodically
with an
ominous gurgling sound, weaker and weaker.”
“Suddenly, in
the small hours, a wave of peace seemed to swoop over the mother's
pain-racked
heart, to still, as by an irresistible command, the tossing waves of
her
rebellious will. A sense that all was over and that all was well. From her
dry, burning
eyes the tears gushed forth, as they will do in such saving moments
when a
dangerous state of tension breaks. Burying her face in the bed clothes
she
surrendered unconditionally. ‘Not mine O God, but Thine is she - Thine to
take as Thine
to give - Thy Will be done!’”
“For a few
seconds she knelt there in great peace, her burden gone, when a
movement of
the child started her. Looking up, she saw her darling looking at
her intently,
fully conscious, struggling to speak, reaching her hands up to her
throat, as
though asking to be helped to remove something there, something that
choked. And
then the mother saw (she did, sometimes) - a writhing shadow-like
dark snake
coiled, with which her child was struggling. With a sense of
irresistible
power to heal - the power to which nothing but self-surrender can
open up a
channel - she reached forth to remove and cast away the evil. A few
strong
passes, and the dark thing was gone. Then a violent fit of coughing
seized the
child - a throwing up and spitting out of mucus and deadly choking
whitish film.
After which she sank back exhausted, and slept. Next morning, the
doctor ‘was
surprised’, as HPB's doctors were wont to be when their dying
patient of
the night before had changed her mind and was found getting royally
outside her
breakfast, without argument.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (12)
first
published in the Theosophist, March, 1910, p774-780
“I will begin
to-day,” said the Vagrant. “When I was in America this last time,
an officer in
the United States Army told me an interesting experience he had
had. He
seemed very level-headed - not at all an excitable person - and from his
own account
of himself he does not seem to be psychic. The event took place
during the
Cuban war. He was a junior officer then and took part in the war. One
day when he
was sitting alone in a room, his father suddenly appeared to him;
the young
officer knew he could not be there in an ordinary way, but the
apparition
looked exactly as his father did in his physical body. The father
proceeded to
prophesy to him many events of his future life, some of which
seemed to the
young man most unlikely of fulfilment, and he gave the dates when
they would
occur. Immediately after his father's disappearance, the officer
wrote down in
detail all that had been told him, noting the prophecies and their
dates.
Shortly afterwards he learned - whether by letter or by telegram I forget
- that his
father had passed away at the very time when he had appeared to him.
That was
several years ago now; and some of the prophecies have already been
fulfilled -
all those that were to occur in the years intervening between that
date and
this. I therefore advised the officer to do all in his power to prepare
himself for
the events that were still to come, though they seem to him nearly
impossible; so
that if he indeed should rise to a position of great power and
responsibility,
he would have made good use of the prediction by fitting himself
to occupy it
well.”
“But how was
the father able to prophesy in this manner?” asked the Magian.
“One can only
say in reply,” answered the Shepherd, “that when the Ego is freed
from the
physical body his perceptions are much clearer, so that as soon as the
father was
dead he may easily have foreseen events of which during life he was
quite
ignorant. Evidently at the moment of death his thoughts turned to his son,
and he may
have come in the first place merely with the intention of announcing
the death and
so saving his son from a shock. But when, liberated from the
burden of the
flesh, he turned his more penetrating vision upon his son, he at
once saw
certain important events impending over him, and forgot his original
purpose in
the urgent necessity of warning him to prepare himself for these. The
natural
perceptive power of the Ego was probably stimulated by his affection for
the object of
the prophecy.”
“In some
cases, too”, remarked the Vagrant, “pictures of important events coming
to any person
may be seen in the aura of that person, even without any special
stimulation.
I remember the Shepherd meeting one day in the street a
poorly-dressed
little girl whom he had never seen before - ”
“Whom I have
never seen since,” interjected the Shepherd.
“You tell the
facts,” said the Vagrant, and the Shepherd proceeded:
“In that
momentary encounter I knew that, poor as she then appeared, she would
marry a great
commercial magnate, and become one of the richest inhabitants of
her native
city. On another occasion, while sitting waiting in a train at a
terminus, I
saw three young fellows pass the window of the carriage, and knew
instantly
that he who walked in the middle would presently go out to a certain
colony,
commit a murder and be executed or lynched for it. A piece of knowledge
entirely
useless, for I knew nothing whatever of the man, and could not even
speak his
language; nor do I know that his fate would have been evitable, even
if I could
have warned him, and he had chosen to listen to me. One often gets
such
apparently purposeless glimpses of the future of others, so it is evident
that no
special revelation need be assumed in the case described in the story
which we have
just heard. We may assume that the causes which must inevitably
produce what
is foreseen have already been set in motion, so that all that is
seen is the
logical outcome of what has been done in the past.”
“Many years
ago,” said Ithuriel, “in one of the principal cities of America,
there lived a
young man, the pupil of a professor of music who was organist in
the
cathedral. It was the young man's duty to assist the professor in the
service,
train the choir boys, and to play the organ, if for any reason the
professor
should happen to be absent. It was his custom on the way to service to
call at the
home of his teacher, and they would go on to the church together. On
the day of
the occurrence of this story, the young man stopped for him a little
later than
usual, rang the bell, and the door was opened by the butler who said
that his
master had already gone to the cathedral. But at that moment they both
saw him on
the stairs and they thought that he had returned for some reason. The
young
organist sprang up the steps to greet him, and as he did so the professor
said to him,
in a tone loud enough for them both to hear: ‘I want you to play
for me this
morning.’ The young man replied: ‘Certainly,’ and extended his arm
to shake
hands, when to his astonishment the figure of his friend faded into the
wall. At
first he was so astounded that he could not speak, but was soon able to
question the
butler, who of course corroborated what the young man had seen and
heard. The
latter rushed off to the cathedral to see if he could get some light
on what had
happened. On entering the choir-loft he found that the service had
already begun
and the Te Deum was just finishing. He saw his professor fall
forward
against the keys of the organ; some of those present carried the old man
to an
adjoining room, and the young organist slipped into his place at the organ
and finished
the service; then he learned that his teacher was dead from heart
failure. The
young organist told his story (which was corroborated by the
butler) and
the shock to him was so great that he was ill for a long time.”
Ithuriel then
asked the Shepherd if it were probable that the Ego of the old man
deserted the
body some time previous to the moment of death, and that the purely
physical
consciousness had carried on the body for a little time. He replied:
“That would
hardly be possible. After all, the moment when the Ego leaves the
body is the
moment of death, and there is no reason to suppose any deviation
from the
ordinary rule in this case. It seems probable that the Ego foresaw the
approaching
death, and therefore arranged that his duty should be carried on.
The entire
phenomenon might easily have been produced by some friendly onlooker,
but it is
most likely that the Ego himself attended to the business.”
“I will
narrate a similar story of help from the other side,” said the Fakir. “A
good lady in
K., a nervous patient, psychic as people of her class often are,
was once
relieved of considerable pain by an old gentleman of the next world
whom she saw
bending over her at night - saw so distinctly that she said she
would
recognise him anywhere. I showed her a picture of Mr Sinnett, whose book
on Mesmerism
I had read, but she would have none of him. Then the matter dropped
and was
forgotten - as far as I was concerned. A few weeks later I happened to
lend her a
book of mine - The Idyll of the White Lotus. It had a dainty cloth
wrapper
forming a sort of pocket on the inside of each cover. Inside the flap
thus formed,
a loose picture without card-board of HPB with the Colonel and the
wonder-basket
- you know it, I suppose - had strayed. I noticed it and took it
out, when my
good lady literally pounced upon it - a way these psychics have -
exclaiming:
‘There is my old gentleman.’ This was in 1899.”
“Well, as
others have spoken about superphysical helpers,” said the Fiddler, “I
will speak of
my own experience in which a superphysical entity needed help from
one down
here. It was in this wise: Some years ago I was staying with a friend
in Surrey,
who was interested in Spiritualism. I joined her in a few
experiments; I
then tried a few by myself, more out of fun and curiosity than
the desire
for serious investigation. One day I was amusing myself alone in the
drawing-room
with a device for getting messages spelled out - a penny suspended
on a piece of
cotton inside an empty tumbler. The thing began to get violently
agitated, and
I asked: ‘Who is there?’ A name was rapped out. (I forget the name
now.) I
asked: ‘What do you what?’ There was no answer, but a great trembling of
the string,
as if of emotion. So I continued: ‘Are you in trouble?’ The answer
came at once:
‘Yes’. ‘Are you a Theosophist?’ ‘Yes’. ‘Do you know HPB?’ ‘Yes’.
‘Are you dead
or alive?’ No answer. I repeated this, but could get no further.
‘Are you in
trouble?’ Then the thing rapped out: ‘Go to sleep, and you will help
me.’ So I
promptly went up to my room, and slept deeply for two or three hours.
Remembering
nothing when I awoke, I put the whole thing aside as a probable
freak of my
own sub-conscious self. Some weeks after, I happened to be at the TS
Headquarters
in London, and I bethought me of my friend of the tumbler, and
asked the
Secretary if there happened to be such a person on the members' list
(mentioning
his name). No, she thought not. However, she would consult the list
of provincial
members if I would wait. There she found his name, amongst those
of the Hull
Branch. It happened that I was due in Hull shortly afterwards, to
fulfil an
engagement with the Hallé Band under Richter there. Amongst the
orchestra
were several TS members, and so the artists' room was turned into a
Theosophical
meeting-place. Chatting with the President of the Lodge, I asked
him about the
member whose name had come to me in such a queer way. On hearing
the name he
became all eagerness to know more: ‘Poor fellow, one of our best and
most devoted
members - disappeared suddenly a year ago, and no one has been able
to trace him
since.’ I gave him the few details I had gathered; but I never
heard the end
of the story.”
“As we have
come down to helping on the physical plane, I make myself bold to
speak,” said
the Epistemologist. “One evening, after I had given a lecture, a
young man and
his wife came to me and asked if I could do anything for them in
their difficult
circumstances. They related how she was the subject of some
invisible and
‘psychic’ interference. Being a little clairvoyant at times, she
was able to
see some ‘evil spirits’ who were constantly threatening her, and
trying to
impel her to do things against her will. She dared scarcely take up a
knife, for
when she did so these beings would try to make her cut her throat
with it. She
was near the time of child-birth, and it may have been that her
mind was in a
somewhat unstable condition - about that I do not know. But when
she and her
husband, who was also to a slight extent clairvoyant, faced these
entities and
asserted that the attempt to injure her could not be successful
against their
wills, the entities only laughed mockingly and, holding up before
her the child
that was to be born, threatened that if they could not cause her
injury they
would at least do it to the child - a threat which disturbed her
very much. I
promised to call at their house, or write, next evening; for it
occurred to
me to consult a certain medium whom I knew well. In any case I
should have
visited them to try a few arts of magnetisation which I has learned
years before
when studying mesmerism. The next day I went to see the medium, and
the
spirit-friend whom I well knew soon came. After my relating the case, the
spirit friend
explained to me several things which I was to explain in turn to
the young
people, and also told me to magnetise certain things to be used in
particular
ways. I was told that another spirit-friend, whom I also knew - a man
who had lived
in one of the earlier races, and was exceedingly powerful - would
accompany me
to the house. In the evening, I visited the gentleman and his wife,
and explained
to them that it was quite impossible for these evil beings to
injure the
child since birth and death are specially protected conditions. I
then
magnetised a cross which the lady was always to wear, a cloth which was to
be laid upon
her pillow at night, and lastly a chair in which she was to sit
whenever she
felt or saw the presence of the undesirable entities. These things
were not to
be touched by any one but herself. It must have been two months
later when I
saw them again, and then I was told that the day after my visit the
entities came
once more. The lady sat down in the chair, and the evil spirits
came very
near to her; but it seemed as though behind them there was another
spirit, very
powerful. He seemed to let them come near.”
“They did
come near then?” interjected the Shepherd.
“Oh, yes”,
replied the Epistemologist. “But it seemed as though there were some
purpose in
allowing them to come very close; perhaps they became a little
materialised,
for presently there seemed to be a scuffle, the influences
vanished, and
the lady was never in the least troubled by them afterwards.”
“What was
their reason for their coming?” asked the Shepherd.
“I don't
know,” answered the Epistemologist. “It appeared to me pure malice.”
“I never came
across a case of pure malice,” said the Shepherd; “well, out of
revenge
perhaps - this is a very rare case - it arises probably from jealousy.”
“It is
curious in connexion with this case,” continued the Epistemologist,
“that, while
I was conscious of my body being frequently used, on this occasion
I felt no
force coming through. It may be there was very little resistibility in
my body, to
this particular quality of force. But I have great faith in the
spirit-friend
I consulted, though that one failed me once or twice, as nearly
always
happens sooner or later. She told me, for example, that Madame Blavatsky
was now
reincarnated in a female body in Germany - which was not correct -
although she
knew HPB in the inner world, and even did some work under her.”
“That is not
unusual,” said the Shepherd. “It is quite possible for people to
work together
on the astral plane without one knowing where his fellow-worker is
incarnated.
The statement that HPB was thus reborn was widely circulated, and
your
spirit-friend evidently took it as correct and passed it on to you.”
“Yes,”
assented the Epistemologist, “perhaps I expected too much. But I had
better tell
the incident. Some time ago I was much troubled as to what I should
do in
connexion with some of my work for the Theosophical movement, so I asked
my friend to
make an appointment for me to meet HPB on a certain night, which
was done. I
expected to bring the memory through, but it happened that something
occurred on
that day to interrupt my sleep, and nothing came through. However, a
day or two
before, I think it was the morning after the arrangement, as I was
sitting
quiet, I obtained what I believed was the answer by HPB to my question.
It was a
characteristic answer, not lacking in strength on account of its
length. I was
first called names, which I value highly though they are usually
considered
unkind, and then asked why I wasted her time instead of deciding for
myself. But
my question was answered somehow, and I knew it quite as well as if
it had been
framed in words. It gave satisfaction to me and cleared away my
doubts. I
would not ask my spirit-friend anything about the interview, although
informed of
her presence, because I wished to lean only on myself. My friend
afterwards
took up some work under HPB, I was told, and sometimes I think,
though that
is little better than guessing, that the service to me led up to
it.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (13)
first
published in the Theosophist, April, 1910, p930-931 reset 12
“The
following incident,” said the Archivarius, “is interesting simply because
it was
carefully verified; it happened in Budapest, where I was staying for two
months in
October 1905. I had gone to help in forming the Hungarian Section, and
I had taken
rooms there with an English friend, Miss Abbott. On Sunday evening,
October 29th,
I was expecting a telegram with news about the Italian Convention;
one of the
members had promised to send me a telegram on that Sunday evening to
let me know
how matters had gone and what had been arranged. A telegram from
Italy, sent
about 7 pm, should have arrived that same evening. We waited until
11 pm, and
then knew it was useless to expect anything, as the house-door was
shut. I
waited all the next day and finally went to bed feeling that something
was wrong. I
went to sleep, and I found myself in full consciousness walking in
the
Kerepesi-ut, looking for a Library, but I did not know the exact address. I
saw standing
at the side of the foot-way a one-horse drosky; it was on my right
side; on the
left, apparently waiting, was a fair-haired coachman with a small
close round
hat on his head. I noticed the hat, for it was not the one usually
worn by the
coachmen in Budapest. I went up to him, and asked him the way to the
Library. He
took off his hat and answered and then added: ‘Gnädige Frau
(gracious
lady), you are being searched for all over the place; a telegram has
arrived for
you, which cannot be delivered as it is incorrectly addressed.’ I
thanked him,
and said I would go and see about it, and went on my way. I do not
know if I
arrived at the Library or not. I awoke on Tuesday morning with this
incident so
vividly impressed on my mind that I determined to verify it, and
when I went
to breakfast with my friend I said that as soon as Herr Nagy arrived
at 11 am I
should ask him to take me to the General Post Office. He came, and we
started; on
going towards the Post Office in the tram, I was surprised to see a
coachman with
the small round hat on; on arriving at the GPO we went to the
Chief of the
Telegraph department, and Herr Nagy explained that I had come to
see if a
telegram had arrived for me on Sunday night, October 29th. He took down
his register,
and looked up the telegrams for Sunday night, and there was the
telegram to
my name, but the address was wrong, and it had not been delivered
for that
reason; he gave us an order for it, and Herr Nagy went to the office
upstairs and
came back with the telegram triumphantly, saying that the men
complained
that they had been searching all day, five of them going in different
directions to
find me. The telegram was from Italy, and had been sent off on
“Sunday night
about 7 pm.”
“The
following comes from a friend abroad,” said the Vagrant, and read: ‘A few
years ago, on
being better after having been a little unwell for a fortnight, I
had this
experience. Going into a room nearly dark I noticed that from the side
of one of my
physical hands a counterpart hand, corresponding in form, was
protruded, or
left behind, as if floating in the air, when the physical hand was
moved
side-ways. Nearly the whole of a counterpart hand was protruded. It seemed
of a
flame-like nature but kept its outline perfectly. It was principally of a
yellowish
color and was in a constant state of undulatory motion in longitudinal
lines, like
flowing waves, minute bright sparks occurring occasionally in
places. When
the physical hand was kept still the counterpart floated slowly
back and
disappeared inside of it, but came out again when the physical hand was
again
moved.’”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (14)
first
published in the Theosophist, May, 1910, p1098-1100
The Vagrant
said: “I am going to begin this evening. I will tell you about the
first
occasion on which I saw my Master. I wrote an account of the event once in
a pamphlet,
but it never appeared in any publication that has lasted. Soon after
I joined the
Society, it happened that I was in England at a time when HPB was
in
Fontainebleau, France, where The Voice of the Silence was written. She wrote
me to go over
and join her, which I did with joy. She was living in a delightful
old house out
in the country, and I was put in a bed-room near hers, a door
connecting
the two. One night I awoke suddenly owing to an extraordinary feeling
that there
was in the room. The air was all throbbing, and it seemed as if an
electric
machine was playing there; the whole room was electric. I was so
astonished
(for it was my first experience of the kind) that I sat up in bed,
wondering
what on earth could be happening. It was quite dark, and in those days
I was not a
bit clairvoyant. At the foot of the bed a luminous figure appeared,
and stood
there from half a minute to a minute. It was the figure of a very tall
man, and I
thought, from pictures I had seen, it was HPB's Master. Near him was
another
figure, more faintly luminous, which I could not clearly distinguish.
The brilliant
figure stood quite still, looking at me, and I was so utterly
astounded
that I sat perfectly still, simply looking at Him; I did not even
think of
saluting Him. So I remained motionless and then gradually the figure
vanished.
Next day I told HPB what had happened, and she replied: ‘Yes, Master
came to see
me in the night, and went into your room to have a look at you.’
This was my
first experience of seeing a Master; it must have been clearly a
case of
materialisation, for as I have said, I was not in the least clairvoyant
at the time.”
“That was a
phenomenon on the physical plane,” said the Magian; “Tell us your
earliest
psychic experience.”
“One of my
earliest psychic experiences occurred at Brighton,” the Vagrant
smilingly
replied, “when Mrs Cooper-Oakley and I went down there to stay with
HPB a few
days. She was not well at the time. There was not much room in the
house, so Mrs
Oakley and I shared a large attic-like room. After we had retired,
a great grey
eye appeared to us in turn; it came, floated over the beds and
glared at us,
first to my bed, then to hers, and then vanished. After it had
gone, one leg
of Mrs Oakley's bed lifted up in the air and went down with a
bang, twice.
I heard a voice calling me: ‘Annie, my bed is banging.’ Then the
leg of my bed
did the same thing, and I said: ‘Isabel, my bed is banging too’.
We spoke to
HPB next morning about these rather disconcerting experiences, but
could get no
explanation from her. She was only playing little tricks on us with
her favorite
elemental. She also used to keep a little elemental under her
writing-table
to guard her papers in her absence, and she always knew if any one
had been
there looking at them. On one occasion it hemmed some towels for her,
as the
President-Founder has related in the Old Diary Leaves. It took very long
stitches, but
it sewed better than she could at any rate.”
“Tell us
something more of HPB”, cried a voice.
“In the days
at Lansdowne Road, there was a young man of about seventeen, a
relative of
the Master KH, who used to come to visit HPB in his astral body. She
was very fond
of him. He was nick-named the Rice King, because once when there
was a famine
in India, and he was suffering intensely because of the misery he
saw around
him, he tried to materialise some rice in a storehouse. But not being
an expert at
this kind of thing, or knowing how to use the forces, he
dematerialised
it instead, to his great sorrow and dismay. He took an interest
in Europeans,
and in HPB in particular. She was very fond of him, but he used to
exasperate
her exceedingly by going to her writing-desk, and fumbling over all
her papers,
to her intense disgust, asking what those European things were. One
night, I
remember, he asked her permission to ‘stump up and down the stairs and
frighten the
chelas.’”
“Well, go on,
we want more of HPB.”
“I dare say
you know that at séances where ‘apports’ take place the guides have
frequently
been asked to bring a newspaper from some distant place, which could
not be there
at the time of the séance by any ordinary means of transit, train
or boat. This
is one of the tests which it seems to be impossible to give. There
is always
some difficulty about it, though the spooks themselves do not seem to
know in what
the difficulty consists. HPB once handed me some papers she had
just been
writing, to look over, in which there was a long quotation from a
paper printed
in India, about what had happened at a garden party. I noted the
date and saw
it could not possibly have arrived yet from India; I pointed this
out to her,
and said: ‘HPB how did you get this?’ She said: ‘I copied it.’ But I
told her it
was out of a paper that had not arrived; it could not have been
copied. She
said: ‘Oh nonsense, it could.’ I noted the date of the paper and,
when the time
came for the Indian mail to arrive, I went down to the India
Office the
next day and asked to look at the Indian papers. I turned to the page
from which
she had quoted, but found nothing there. Then remembering that when
reading
astrally, sometimes figures are apt to be inverted, I turned over to
another page
which it would have been if read upside down, and there was the
paragraph,
word for word as she had given it. I went back and said to her in a
mischievous
way: ‘HPB I saw that paragraph of yours in the paper to-day, and it
is quite
correct.’, ‘Yes, here it is.’ she replied, tossing the paper over to
me, a copy
she had just received, thinking effectually to silence me. I said:
‘Oh yes, but
you had not received it at the time you made the quotation,’
whereupon she
only muttered some impolite expression.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (15)
first
published in the Theosophist, June, 1910, p1185-1190
On the
gathering of the usual circle Ithuriel read the following:
“Quite
recently, while dwelling in thought upon some of the problems of evil in
our world -
those specially arising from greed and selfishness - my mind turned,
by a rather
unusual succession of ideas, to the subject of Avîchi, lost souls,
and the
eighth sphere. Suddenly there arose before me an astral picture of a
rocky cliff,
much resembling a precipitous pass in the mountains of Switzerland,
except that
there was no beautiful surrounding landscape, nothing but rocky
waste and
endless space. In an isolated niche of the rocks I saw a huge
creature,
with a sort of half-animal, half-human form. At first glance I thought
it to be an
elemental - sometimes one sees such in astral plane work, and
supposed that
there must be something to be done in connexion with it, perhaps
to help some
person who was frightened by it, or to assist in disintegrating it,
as the case
might be. But it was soon evident that the vision was being shown me
by a higher
plane teacher, one to whom I owe a profound debt of gratitude for
the
instruction he has so often given me. He pointed out that I was being shown
one of the
types of the disintegrating personalities, which are cut off from the
Ego. He
suggested that I should try to place myself slightly in touch with its
consciousness,
in order that I might understand what had led to such a condition
of existence.
The thought of uniting one's consciousness, even for only a
moment, with
that of such a creature, created within one a feeling of deep
repulsion,
but on continuing to regard it the feeling passed, and one began to
sense a
growing interest in it; one soon felt riveted to the spot by its wild
yet
penetrating glance - a glance that had in it an unholy sense of power, yet
at the same
time expressing helpless mute despair. Even though one's
consciousness
was unable in any recognised way to mix with that of such a being,
one felt in
some mysterious way a part of it (though quite separate), and able
not only to
analyse what it was feeling, but also to know what was passing in
its mind.
Presently there began to spread before me a long series of pictures
disclosing
the past lives of the creature, those lived at the time when it was
still attached
to the Ego. One incarnation after another was passed in purely
selfish
living, and they were also mixed with crimes of the lowest nature; as
time went on
the Ego was subjected to some severe tests as to its capacity to
indulge in or
resist evil. These were mostly lives in Atlantis, and the man
entered into
some of the degrading orgies of black magic; in fact he often led
them as a
priest of the black art, at the time when the use of human sacrifice
was
prevalent, as well as magic of the sensual order too horrible to realise. He
did not
respond to any opportunities offered to turn to the Path of Spiritual
Progress,
thus delaying his advancement, and so degrading the personality as to
lead it
directly on to the path of final extinction.”
“It seemed
very merciful that now and then kârmic deities would allow a life to
be passed
where he would be brought into contact with ascetics or priests, who
tried to
teach him the error of his ways - all to no purpose. At one time it was
permitted him
to receive teaching from even a Great One, when He was preaching,
who told him
that if he still persisted in evil, there would come a time when,
by natural
law, the divine part of him must of necessity be severed from the
lower, and as
a result he would be forced to wander as a soulless creature,
perhaps only
able to reincarnate once or twice more, and even then in a most
degraded
body, as only such could express his depravity; then finally it would
be necessary
to transport him astrally from this planet into complete isolation,
where amid
vain struggles to ‘keep alive’ and in great suffering he would at
last ‘go
out’. But the man would not listen, nor would he even believe the
teaching
given, but became even still more desperate and depraved. Sometimes
when the
memory of this warning would come to him to haunt him, he would harden
himself
deliberately and rebelliously against it; an inconceivably demoniacal
look of
hatred would pass over his face, and he would entertain feelings of
revenge
towards the Great One who had so compassionately tried to assist him to
a better
life. It now seemed practically hopeless that the man would even turn
to the Path
of Progress, for the lives grew more bestially evil than ever, lower
and lower,
downwards and outwards, until one could see that at last he had lost
even the
sense of right or wrong. It is at this time that one suspects the
separation
from the higher must have taken place. Apparently he must have had a
sort of
sub-conscious realisation that he was now ceasing to live, for he began
in a
desperate way to search out victims to vampirise, drawing their vitality to
help him go
on; sometimes he was even attached to animals; perhaps in this way
he was able
to obsess the dreadful elemental form he now wore. Then there
followed soon
after this a time when he was transported from this planet of ever
increasing
life and was carried to the astral plane of the moon, a
disintegrating
planet, to a part of it that is cut off entirely from any
connexion
whatever with this earth, and the place where he was when shown in the
vision.
During the long ages of practising black magic and of evil doing he had
made himself
strongly vitalised lower bodies, and probably did not realise when
he was cut
off from the higher part of himself - the Ego. In that strongly built
lower form
with its permanent atoms, he was able to function sufficiently well
during the
time yet left to him to exist on this plane, and in it had stored up
a large
amount of will of the baser kind. One would naturally suppose that such
a body would
be surrounded with an aura in a violent state of agitation, but
this was not
the case; on the contrary, the astral and mental bodies were
scarcely
recognisable as such, and looked heavy, sluggish, ill-defined and
viscous. When
he used his will, there oozed from him polluting murky matter of a
most
objectionable kind, and one felt as though one were looking into a dark
cave, where
some foul slimy monster breathed out a miasmatic effluvium.”
“Now let us
turn to the Ego that had previously for so long a time been attached
to this
creature. There has been confusion in the minds of some concerning the
state known
as Avîchi, and the place called the eighth sphere. It is the Ego
alone that
can experience Avîchi (except in very exceptional cases where it is
possible for
a personality to experience it for a brief space of time) and it is
a state of
consciousness that can be realised in any place. But the eighth
sphere is a
place to which a disintegrating personality is exiled, when it is
cut off from
the Ego entirely, and at present we know that it is, as before
stated, a
region in the astral plane of the moon. Generally only a very small
part of the
true Ego of the man is put down into the mental, astral and physical
planes when
he is in incarnation in the physical body; in proportion as the ear
is to the
whole physical body, so is the small part of the Ego generally put
down into the
personality, as compared to the Ego itself. The latter remains on
his own
plane, the causal, and his only touch with the planes below him is
through the
experiences of the personality in which are the permanent atoms.
Since up to
this time the personality mentioned had only been experiencing lives
in which
virtues had been absent, the permanent atoms could only express low and
animal
tendencies. But it is not so much that these tendencies, (natural to the
early stages
of evolution) are in these atoms, but that there is a complete
absence of
the opposite virtues in the causal body; consequently the animal
below has
nothing from above to counteract it.”
“Now in the
case cited, the Ego had been quite indifferent to the experiences of
the personality
during the earlier stages, and when the time came at which the
personality
was indulging in magic and crimes of an intellectual nature, he
began to take
more interest in them and even to share in them; from this he
developed the
evil qualities possible to an Ego - such as love of power,
intellectual
pride and selfishness, etc. Then suddenly he realised that the
personality
had become so vile that it was in danger of being cut off, and he
then began to
put more and more of the better part of himself down to turn it to
better
things; but it was too late; for not only was the personality cut off,
but the Ego
lost all of himself that had been put down, and since his only touch
with the
outer world was through that part of himself, he was plunged into
Avîchi,
maimed and weakened, with no further progress possible for a long time
to come. We
can conceive the condition of Avîchi as being analogous to that of
Devachan, in
that both are, in a certain sense, a separated condition of
consciousness;
the difference between the two lying in the experiences of both -
also in the
events that have made either possible. Devachan is a state of unity
and love,
resulting from good; Avîchi is a state of separateness and selfishness
resulting
from evil. Devachan is a state cut off from evil; Avîchi, from good.”
“Yes”, said
the Shepherd, “the two states are as poles on the lower mental
plane. An
Ego, who has allowed his mental body to be soiled in the ways you
describe,
loses the greater part of it, not quite all, and through the part
retained
suffers the terrible loneliness of Avîchi, ‘the waveless’. He has cut
himself off
from the current of evolution, from the mighty life-wave of the
Logos, and he
feels himself as outside that life. When he at last returns to
incarnation,
he has to take birth far down the ladder of evolution, among
savages. It
is even possible that he may not be able to find a body low enough
to act as a
vehicle, and may have to wait for another cycle.”
“There is, is
there not?” asked one of the circle, “an Avîchi of a yet more
awful kind,
mentioned in a letter of the Master KH?”
“Yes”,
replied the Shepherd. “There is another type of black magician, in
outward
appearance more respectable, yet really more dangerous because more
powerful. His
selfishness is more refined and not less unscrupulous. He aims at
the
acquisition of a higher and wider occult power, to be used always for his
own
gratification and advancement, to further his own ambition or gratify his
own revenge.
To gain this, he adopts the most rigid asceticism, as regards mere
fleshly
desires, and starves out the grosser particles of his astral body. But
the centre of
his energy is none the less in his personality, and the Ego loses
the strength
thus woven into the lower mental vehicle. His Avîchi is a long and
terrible one,
for he gains the isolation at which he aimed.”
“We know”
remarked Ithuriel, “that the crimes of the lower sort, indulged in by
the savage or
the ordinary undeveloped man, do little, if any harm, to the
causal body,
because they find their natural expression in the lower bodies, on
the lower
mental, astral and physical planes. But when a man has reached a stage
such as that
of the black magician of whom you speak, one having great mental
power, pride,
and selfishness of an intellectual sort, then there is a certain
amount of
harm to the causal body, because these lower qualities build into it
matter that
is not plastic, and of a deep orange color, which erects a sort of
separating
impenetrable wall; in so far as the individual consciousness of the
man is
concerned, it is isolated, constricted, and selfish. When the personality
is at last
cut off, the Ego must dwell in his awful isolation - in Avîchi -
until that
separating matter or body around him has disintegrated, worn away by
ages of
time.”
“It is well
to remember,” concluded the Shepherd, “that only the most persistent
and
deliberate efforts can bring out these results. It is the determined choice
to be
selfish, and the inevitable consequence of that choice.”
“Yes,” said
the Vagrant. “Nature gives us our desire, whatever it may be. And at
last the
sentence goes out: ‘Ephraim is joined to his idols: let him alone’. And
alone he is
left.”
END
-------
In the Twilight (16)
first
published in the Theosophist, July, 1910, p1348-1350
“I had a
prophetic dream,” said the Brâhmana, “of which I do not understand the
rationale. A
friend of mine in government service was transferred to B.--- a
place he very
much disliked. One night, after he had been speaking to me of this
appointment,
I dreamed that he had been appointed to a place I will call C. I
told my dream
to my friend, who answered that he would most certainly very much
like to be
transferred to C., but that he had no chance of being appointed to
it. The
dream, however, came true, for when my friend had been at B. for only
two or three
months, incidents occurred which led to his transfer to C. Now,
what I cannot
understand is why I should dream of a matter of this sort, in
which I took
no special interest, and in which I was not concerned.”
“The Ego,”
said the Vagrant, “constantly foresees coming events, and may be said
normally to
foresee the near future. But, at the present stage of evolution, his
knowledge is
not readily impressed on the physical brain. When the brain happens
to be in a
receptive condition, some of this knowledge, normally possessed by
the Ego, is
impressed on it. These astral happenings need not be of any
importance,
nor related to the clairvoyant; they only happen to be taking place
at the time
when the physical condition enables them to be recorded. If a part
of a dirty
window is cleaned, a person behind the window would see, through the
cleaned spot,
anything which happened to pass by outside. The things would not
‘mean’
anything to him; he would see them because they were there. The brain
passes
through a number of physiological conditions, some of which are favorable
and some
unfavorable to the transmission of impressions from the higher planes.
A little
extra fatigue, a little fever, may provide the conditions, by slightly
increasing
the sensitiveness of the brain.”
“Looking at
the matter from outside the physical plane”, remarked the Shepherd,
“the wonder
is not that people bring so little through into their physical
consciousness,
but that they bring through anything at all. So many conditions
have to be
present to make it possible. A fairly common experience of psychic
people is to
see the events which some one is relating to them; they often see
more than the
narrator relates, because they see the thought-forms he is
generating.
Sometimes, even, they see more than the narrator himself knows.”
“I had once a
curious dream”, said Serena. “I dreamed that I was in a house, and
I was a man
lecturing in the upper storey; but at the same time I was a woman,
talking about
Theosophy to a small circle of people downstairs. I was both these
people at the
same time.”
“You were
probably neither of them”, said the Shepherd with a smile, “but were
helping both
of them, and so thoroughly identifying yourself with them that you
felt yourself
to be each of them. Sometimes, when working astrally, one may get
a glimpse of
some previous incarnation of one's own, but if that had been the
case here,
the difference of dress would have shown that the picture belonged to
a period
other than the present. Some people do very thoroughly identify
themselves
with a person they are helping on the astral plane. I remember a case
where a
helper, sent to an explosion, felt himself blown up into the air like
the real
victim. A great many years ago, I found myself in three places at once:
I was standing
in my bed-room, leaning against the foot of my bed, when I became
aware that I
was in a temple; while I was both in the room and in the temple, I
found myself
walking round the temple outside.”
“Once at
Avenue Road”, said the Vagrant, “I was lying in bed in my own room;
still
conscious of this, I found myself in the Ashrama of the Master, and the
double
consciousness gave me such a sense of unreality, that I asked the Master
whether I was
really with Him or was only making an imaginary picture. He said
no, that I
was really there, and that later on I should find it very convenient
to be able to
keep my consciousness simultaneously in several places.”
“You can hold
a meeting here”, remarked the Shepherd, “and at the same time put
a question to
the Master at Shigatse, and hear His answer.”
“One is
centred in the causal body on these occasions,” said the Vagrant, “and
may have
various bodies working at different places, animated by one's own
consciousness.
The consciousness is one, and the separation only exists in the
spheres of
the lower bodies.”
“Or,”
proceeded the Shepherd, “while sitting in this chair, you may, by an
internal
operation, produce yourself on another planet, and your consciousness
will then be
in two places, separated by millions of miles.”
“Mr
Leadbeater,” said the Scholar, “when looking at the future community, ‘got
out the way,’
as he called it, and allowed an Ego there to speak through his
body and
answer my questions. That seems to me even queerer, for that Ego was
speakings so
to say, at a point several hundred years hence. Is time as unreal
as distance?
And he also described the appearance of a man sitting in a
particular
seat in the second row on a certain occasion in one of the temples.”
“If you see a
thing at all, you see it in its details,” replied the Vagrant.
“You may
fancy a thing vaguely, but if you see it, you see it with its
characteristics.
It is metaphysically true that what we call the past, present
and future
all co-exist now, and there is a consciousness which sees things
simultaneously
instead of in succession. To us things appear as successive which
must be ever
present to the Logos, and far far below Him future and past may be
seen as
mutually re-active. Alike by the Vedântin and in the scholastic writings
of Musalman
metaphysicians, it is seen that in eternity all things exist
simultaneously
which, in manifestation, appear successively.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (17)
first
published in the Theosophist, Oct, 1910, p116 - 120
“I have here
a rather interesting incident,” said the Vagrant, “in a letter from
England. The
writer is a member and is sensitive and very clever. She says:”
“On the night
of Friday, May 6th, I was sitting alone in the drawing-room of my
house from a
little after 11 pm. I had of course seen a late bulletin of the
King's state,
and knew that grave fears were entertained by his physicians on
his account.
I was not however consciously thinking of him; but was occupied
with quite
other matters. Suddenly it seemed to me that a loud and piercing cry
rang through
the room; I must have lost consciousness for a moment, for I had
the sensation
of coming back with difficulty, and found that both hands were
clenched
tightly over my heart which was beating to suffocation. I had a vague
idea of going
to the window to see if the cry came from outside, but, as I
thought of
it, I heard a little and thin toneless voice say distinctly: ‘The
King is
dead.’ I sat on motionless, and in about eight or ten minutes (as nearly
as I can
judge) the clock on the landing struck twelve. That clock was five
minutes faster
than the time by the Greenwich ball which regulates all the town
clocks here,
and so the time when I heard the cry would be 11:45 pm. I heard no
more loud
sounds, but while I was undressing was consciousness of a great
psychic
turmoil around me. When I lay down in bed I found great difficulty in
remaining in
my body, which grew cold and faint, while my heart beat so
irregularly
that at times I thought it would stop entirely. When at last I
slept, I was
conscious of a sense of acute distress, and felt that I dared not
get far away
from my body lest I should not be able to return. When the maid
came in with
hot water in the morning, I waited for the words I knew she would
speak; they
were: ‘The King is dead?’”
“One would
not be surprised,” commented the Vagrant, “if many felt some of the
vibrations
which would be caused by the emotions of thousands of people, as the
news spread.
Besides the Passing of a great King stirs the astral world, as the
surges of
popular feeling roll through it. I remember that the great waves of
love and
sorrow which rolled out of millions of hearts to Queen Victoria, after
her death,
awaked her from the unconsciousness which succeeded, as always, the
leaving of
the physical body. Probably the writer caught something of the surge
of emotion in
the crowd round Buckingham Palace. It is quite likely that during
that second
of unconsciousness she travelled to London and heard the
announcement:
‘The King is dead’.”
“A sudden cry
as an announcement of death is not at all uncommon,” said the
Shepherd.
The
conversation turned then on the various ways in which death was announced.
Two ladies
present told of different instances in which a white bird was seen
flying out of
the window when a person died. Reference was also made to the
banshee;
this, the Shepherd said, might be either a nature-spirit or a
thought-form.
At the Vagrant's request, he repeated the story of the
death-warning
that is given to his own family. It is as follows: An ancestor of
his who went
on a crusade, took with him his only son to win his spurs in the
Holy Land.
The lad was however killed in his first battle; and to the natural
and intense
grief felt by his father, was added a terrible anxiety about the
fate of his
son's soul, as he had died without receiving the last consolations
of the
Church. This so preyed on his mind, that he became a monk, and spent the
rest of his
life in prayer for two objects: firstly, for the soul of his son;
and secondly,
that no descendant of his should ever meet death unprepared. Since
that date,
the members of his family in the direct line have always heard a
strange,
mournful music before their deaths; this appears to be strains from the
dirge that
was played at the funeral of the Crusader's son. The Shepherd added
that as he
was the last of his name, and the death-warning did not seem to be
given to
collateral branches of the family, he was curious to l know what would
happen after
his own decease. It appeared to be in full vigor the last time he
heard it, and
calculated to run a long time yet; though how it was ‘worked’ he
did not know.
The Vagrant
related how when she and a companion were one day sitting in her
bungalow at
Benares, they heard a carriage drive up to the door; but no
announcement
following, they went to see who it was, and found no carriage was
there. It was
about eight or nine in the evening. This experience recalls to
mind the
stories of the coaches that in various English families are said to
drive up to
the door previous to the death of any member of them; but in this
instance no
death, and no special event of any kind, occurred as a sequel. There
was also a
ghostly bull in the garden, who would sometimes appear and charge at
people,
causing them to bolt hurriedly.
“What
happened if they didn't bolt?” enquired the Shepherd.
“But they
always did!” replied the Vagrant.
The Shepherd
demurred: “But surely, once certain that it really was an astral
bull, and not
a physical one, the people should have stayed; it would have been
so
interesting.”
“I know of a
man who acted on that principle,” observed a member. “He built
himself a
house and arranged his sleeping compartment on the first storey; the
first night
he went there to sleep, an apparition warned him not to do so, or
harm would
come to him. So he fled to the ground-floor. This happened for
several
nights. Finally one night he refused to leave his bed-room at the
ghost's
behest, and went to sleep there. He awoke with a tremendous jerk and a
start, to
find himself in bed, but out in the middle of the street, whither he
and his bed
had been mysteriously removed in the dead of night.”
The Vagrant
spoke of the various efforts that were being made in the sixties and
seventies to
reach people and arouse them to a sense of the existence of the
superphysical.
At a village in Germany some people received teachings along
Christian
lines superphysically; they had initiations of sorts, and used to
receive a
kind of stigmata on the backs of their hands or on the arms, such as a
cross made in
little red dots, as though by pin-pricks; they had to think about
this, till it
appeared; it was very painful, and evidently it was the action of
the intense thought
that caused the blood to ooze through the skin.
“That is
something along the lines of the training the Jesuits go through,” said
the Scholar.
“They have to build up a picture mentally - say of the Passion -
but in the
minutest detail. They place a figure in a certain place, and in a
certain
attitude, and clothe it in a certain way; and so proceed, till the whole
picture lives
in their mind.”
The Shepherd
told a remarkable experience that Demeter had had, when only six or
seven years
old. “His mother belonged to a noble family in the north of Europe;
and while
staying in her ancestral castle he had several times seen an
apparition
that haunted it - a white and shining figure of a beautiful lady. He
was not at
all frightened, but on the contrary ardently desired a closer
acquaintance
with her. One moonlight-night when he was lying in bed, the ghostly
lady came
into his room, and crossing over to where he lay, she lifted him up
bodily in her
arms. He admits he felt a qualm; but it flashed into his mind that
she was going
to take him to where some buried treasure, that was said to be in
the castle,
was concealed, and he determined to keep quiet; unfortunately, the
ghost had
left the door open when she came in, and a nurse or governess,
happening to
pass outside and catching sight of her, uttered a bloodcurdling
scream; the
ghost dropped the boy on the floor, and vanished, leaving him to
lament
passionately the lost opportunity. He and his sister were most remarkable
children,”
the Shepherd added; “before he was eleven, they had written a
description
of one of the evolutions that is taking place in the interior of the
earth, which
they had visited. This book was also illustrated by them with
pictures
which really conveyed a very good idea of that inner world.”
The Vagrant
related a psychic experience in which Aurora had certainly displayed
the most cool
courage. “One night in bed he became aware of a man standing by
his bed-side
and staring at him, with a most malevolent expression. Aurora asked
him what he
wanted, and received no answer; he then requested his ghostly
visitor to go
away, with no better result. ‘Well, if you won't speak, and won't
go away, I
shall go to sleep,’ said Aurora; and turning round in bed, with his
back to the
ghost, he went to sleep. Personally I should prefer always to keep
my face to
such a visitant,” added the Vagrant.
To Aurora it
also happened that one day as he was riding down a ravine, he met a
ghostly horse
and rider, and his own horse shied violently. Aurora had not
recognised
the unsubstantial nature of the figures confronting him, and, being
vexed, struck
his horse smartly. His horse sprang forward, and, to his
astonishment,
he passed clean through the other horseman and his steed.
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (18)
first
published in the Theosophist, Nov, 1910, p285-293
“In 1905,”
said the Superintendent, “my friend Mr PV Râmsvâmi Râju, a barrister
at law, and
Mr Conjîveram Shrînivâsâ Chârlu, who learned Samskrit pandit, set
out together
on a pilgrimage to the Himâlayan range, where they wished to spend
a few months.
They travelled by train as far as the rails were laid, and then
continued
their journey on foot. They left their luggage behind them and took
with them
only a few necessaries in the way of food and clothing, with two
servants to
carry these things. They walked along the bank of the Ganges for
more than a
fortnight, resting at night wherever they could find any sort of
shelter. The
scenery was so magnificent that they hardly felt the fatigue of the
journey. They
had no difficulty with regard to food, for delicious fruits of
many kinds
were to be had for the taking, and the shepherd-boys whom they
sometimes met
would take nothing for the milk with which they supplied the
travellers.”
“One morning
as they pursued their way, they met a tall and majestic-looking
man. They
expected that in that lonely place he would stop and speak to them;
but he took
no notice of them. He walked past them, broke the ice, plunged into
the sacred
water of the Ganges, and turned and was about to go on his way. Mr
Râju, being
filled with curiosity about this stranger, went up to him and asked
a few
questions as to the way in front of them. In reply the stranger said, ‘It
will not be
well for you to go much further; the foot of the rock which you see
yonder should
be your furthest limit.’”
“With these
words he turned away, walked off very rapidly, and appeared to
spring over
the huge rock. Seeing this our friends ran after him, and tried with
all their
might to jump over the rock as the stranger had done, but could not.
Examining the
ground, they saw a ravine running along by the rock, so they
followed this
for some few miles. After a time they came to a shed, and as night
was drawing
on they decided to sleep in it, as they were very tired. They had at
this time no
food with them, and they did not know where to go in this apparent
wilderness
for fruit or milk. Just as they were lying down hungry, a stranger,
as majestic
as the man whom they had seen in the morning, entered the shed. He
seemed very
friendly, and soon brought them some milk and some fruit, and
offered to
help them in any way that they desired.”
“Suddenly the
pandit felt so ill that he was unable to sit up with any ease. The
new-comer,
seeing this, went out, and soon returned bringing the juice of some
herb, which
he gave to the pandit and directed him to use it as a liniment. The
pandit did as
he was directed, and in a few minutes he found himself
miraculously
well again. Our friends satisfied their hunger and thirst, and then
retired
thankfully to rest.”
“Next morning
they woke much refreshed, and after their morning ablutions they
set out once
more on their exploration. They walked on until their feet ached,
and were
casting about for a suitable place in which to sit down and rest, when
they noticed
a turning which seemed to be quite a frequented path. They at once
followed
this, and found that it led them to a beautiful pond, to which on all
sides granite
steps led down. The water was as clear as crystal, and our friends
thankfully
drank of it and also washed their feet and hands in it. Then the
pandit,
feeling rejuvenated, sat down and began to chant, and his chanting soon
produced an
unexpected result, for it attracted more attention than he had
bargained
for. A man with a golden complexion and long black hair came rushing
in upon them,
and peremptorily demanded an explanation of their intrusion. He
would listen
to no excuse, but told them that they were breaking the peace of
this place,
and that they must depart instantly.”
“Reluctant
though they were to leave so beautiful a spot, they dared not disobey
him, so they
prepared to leave. In answer to their questions he told them that
if they
wished to know more about this place they must come there on a
Shivarâtri
day. Noticing as he spoke the fatigued appearance of the travellers,
the stranger
drew out from under his garment a root, and held it exposed to the
sun. The
exposure caused it to crumble into flour, which he gave them to eat,
telling them
that it would so satisfy their hunger that they would need no
further food
for two days. Before eating, our travellers attempted to wash their
feet and
hands in the pond, but were told by the stranger that they must pour
the water
only over their hands, and must not put their feet in it. They then
ate the food
which had been given to them, and with that and the life-giving
water they
felt ready for the return journey.”
“They walked
on, conversing of the curious things they had seen, until at three
o'clock in
the afternoon they came across another shed on the southern bank of
the Ganges,
and decided to camp there for the night. Mr Râju, feeling much
fatigued,
retired to rest immediately and fell into a deep sleep. The pandit,
however, not
being yet ready to sleep, took his seat close to the river, and
began to
chant some texts from the Vedas. Once more his chanting produced
results, for
one of the recluses from the mountain appeared before him, and took
his seat by
his side. He told the pandit to go on chanting, and even asked him
to recite
certain specified portions. The chanting seemed to please him greatly,
and when it
was over he entered into conversation with the pandit.”
“The latter
was expressing his delight at the beauty of nature and the glorious
scenery
around, referring especially to the wonderful mountain-peak which arose
on the other
side of the river, when the stranger, seeing that the pandit's eyes
were
constantly fixed upon this peak, asked him whether he would like to ascend
it, so as to
get a bird's-eye view of the surrounding country. Our friend,
feeling that
that peak was the abode of this curious community of which he had
now seen
three members, replied modestly that such an honor was too great for
him to
expect. The stranger, however, told him to close his eyes and recite the
Gâyatri
inaudibly. He did so, and when he opened his eyes again, he found
himself on
the summit of the peak, with his new friend.”
“The pandit
described the view as beautiful beyond all words; and they spent a
happy hour up
there chanting and conversing. At the end of this time it was
growing dark,
and the stranger once more asked the pandit to close his eyes and
recite the
Gâyatri. When he reopened them he found himself again on the
riverbank
accompanied by the stranger. He might have believed that he had never
left that
place, but had fallen into a trance and travelled in his astral body,
except for
the fact that his friend the barrister had awakened during his
absence, and
come out in search of him, but could not find him. Upon this Mr
Râju had been
much perturbed, thinking that some wild animal had carried him
away, and he
ran about distracted, searching everywhere for his friend. Quite
suddenly he
saw him on the river bank, where he had already searched a dozen
times.
Overjoyed he rushed to meet him, questioning him eagerly as to where he
had been.”
“Now when
they were on the peak the stranger had asked the pandit to promise
that he would
not tell anyone of his experience, and so he now found himself in
a difficulty,
and looked to his new friend to know what he should do. The
stranger,
appreciating the awkwardness of the situation, gave him permission to
tell his
friend what had happened. This relation affected Mr Râja in the most
extraordinary
way; he became furiously jealous, and so angry that he actually
accused his
friend the pandit of ingratitude, and begged the stranger to extend
to him the
same privilege that he had so freely given to his friend. The
stranger
calmly replied that he must first destroy the râjasic part of his
nature, and
kill out curiosity to know about matters in which he had no
concern.”
“During the
conversation on the peak the stranger had asked the pandit whether
he could make
up his mind to spend the rest of his life with this community of
ascetics, and
had very strongly advised him to do so, telling him that if he
lost this
marvellously good opportunity which his karma had given to him, it was
uncertain
when anything like it would occur again. The pandit, however, was
hardly
prepared for this. He was versed only in book-lore, and tied down to a
certain round
of what he considered duties, the chief of which were owed, he
said, to his
own mother and to his friend and benefactor Mr Râju, who had helped
him with all
he required for twenty years, and to whose liberality he owed even
the
opportunity of this remarkable experience.”
“The stranger
told him that duties of this nature were not of sufficient
importance to
be allowed to interfere with his taking an opportunity such as
this.
Furthermore, the stranger told him that he should have the power to see
his mother
whenever he thought of her, and he guaranteed that his friend should
be guarded on
his lonely journey and guided in safety to his home. The pandit,
however,
could not be moved from his idea of duty, and still maintained his
refusal, to
the distress of his friend and adviser. The pandit died a fortnight
ago, leaving
behind him his old mother, who has now attained the age of
eighty-five,
so that after all he was not able to fulfil to the end the duty
which he felt
that he owed her.”
“It seems to
me,” concluded the Superintendent, “that this pandit's life should
be a lesson
to those who desire to enter the Path, showing them that their
surrender
must be complete and unconditional, and that no thought of mother, son
or friend
must intervene. Otherwise life becomes a void, and contains only a
future of
sorrow and trouble; and before another similar opportunity comes who
knows what
difficulties may have to be encountered?”
“While quite
agreeing,” said the Shepherd, “with the general statement that we
must be
prepared to give up everything without counting the cost, I do not think
that we must
criticise the pandit for his decision. If a man marries, for
example, and
has a family of children, he has unquestionably formed a karma
which it is
his duty to work out, and it would not be right for him to leave
them, to
follow some fancied good for himself. No man need have a wife and
children
unless he chooses, but having chosen he assumes a responsibility for
their
maintenance which he has no right to ignore. This pandit may have felt in
the same way about
his mother, and naturally he could not foresee that after all
he would die
before she did; nor indeed, even if he had foreseen it, would it
have made any
difference as to the matter of duty. It seems to me, however, that
without doing
any violence to his conscience the pandit might have been able to
effect a
compromise. He might have turned to his friend the barrister, and
explaining
all the circumstances to him, might have asked him whether he would
complete his
kindly patronage by taking charge of the old mother for the
remainder of
her life. Under the circumstances the barrister would have been
unlikely to
refuse, and then the pandit would have been free to accept the
stranger's
offer. But we must also observe that even if he had accepted it there
is nothing to
prove that he would have been able to enter the Path, or even that
the stranger
himself had done so.”
“The Lord
Buddha left his wife and child,” interjected somebody.
“Yes,”
replied the Shepherd, “if the story given in the books is to believed;
but in that
case there was no question whatever as to their being suitably
maintained.”
“The members
of this community do not seem to have been exactly Adepts,”
remarked a
student.
“There is
certainly nothing to show that they were,” replied the Shepherd, “and
it scarcely
seems probable. They may however have been pupils of an Adept, or
simply a band
of ascetics who had devoted themselves to the higher studies, and
knew
something of the mysteries of nature. There are such communities in the
Himâlayas -
more than one such, to my knowledge; and there may be many.”
“I have
myself heard the pandit tell the same story,” remarked Gurudâsa, “and,
knowing him
to be a good and honorable man, I could not disbelieve him. But how
is it
possible that his physical body could have been conveyed through the air
in the way
described? what is the mechanism of it, I mean?”
“The matter
is not difficult,” replied the Shepherd, “and there are even several
ways in which
it might be done. You have of course heard of the possibility of
levitation,
for that power has been attributed to several yogis, and I remember
that Colonel
Olcott described an act of that nature which he once saw performed
by a Tibetan
Lama.”
“Yes,” said
Gurudâsa, “but he raised only himself. He did not at the same time
carry another
man.”
“That,” said
the Shepherd, “would present no difficulty. He may for example have
formed a sort
of cushion of ether, and then so changed its polarity as to charge
it with that
repulsive force which is the opposite of gravity. In that case the
pandit
sitting upon it could be raised and supported without the slightest
difficulty.”
“I myself,”
interjected the Tahsildar, “once had an experience which bears on
what you are
saying. I was once in company with a yogi, and we were passing a
night
together at a house near the river. During the night he roused me, and
telling me
that it was close upon daybreak, asked me to come down to the river
with him. I
went, but I soon saw that it was still far from the hour of
daybreak, for
it was somewhere about three o'clock in the morning, and very
dark.
However, we went together, and we sat by the side of the river and entered
into meditation.
After a time he told me to close my eyes and not to open them
again until
he gave me permission. I obeyed, but as nothing more happened for
some
considerable time I began to feel frightened, and at last I opened my eyes
without
waiting for his command. What was my surprise to see that he had
vanished!
What with this extraordinary circumstance and with the loneliness of
the place and
the darkness of the night, I felt exceedingly uneasy, and looked
about
nervously in all directions, but could see nothing of him. Something made
me raise my
eyes upwards, and there I distinctly saw him floating high in the
air above my
head. This phenomenon rather increased than relieved my
disquietude;
but presently he descended, and when he was seated once more
quietly
beside me, he said to me:”
‘Why were you
so afraid?’
“I had
nothing to say; I did not know why I had felt such fear, but presently I
asked him
whether he would ascend again, and take me up with him. Instantly he
replied that
he would, if I would undertake to feel no fear.”
“Exactly,”
interrupted the Shepherd, “if you had felt afraid you would have
fallen.”
“Yes,” said
the Tahsildar, “that is just what he said, and so I did not like to
try.”
“But why
should he fall if he felt afraid?” inquired Gurudâsa.
“Because fear
destroys the will,” replied the Shepherd, “and so utterly ruins
any magical
ceremony. In this case, however, the Tahsildar's will was hardly in
question, as
all the magical part of the performance would have been left to the
yogi. But if
the yogi had made for him such a cushion of etheric matter as I was
suggesting,
it is quite certain that it would have been broken up by the violent
disturbance
of the astral and etheric bodies of the Tahsildar, if he had allowed
himself to
yield to terror. It needs a steady head to experiment with practical
magic, and
unless a man possesses that invaluable characteristic he had much
better leave
it severely alone.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (19)
first
published in the Theosophist, Jan, 1911, p709-712
“Here is a
good story, sent to me from England by one of our members,” said the
Vagrant. “The
people are well known to me, and I only alter their names.”
“It was in
December, 1890, that, my brother having gone to London to live, I
made up my
mind to endeavor to reach him, if it were at all possible, by means
of telepathy.
He and I had for some time previous to that been carrying on
experiments
in hypnotism and the like, and so I thought that if the idea of
telepathy,
which was then receiving special attention, had any real basis for
belief in it,
its practicability ought to be easily demonstrated by us because
of the very
close rapport there was between us.”
“Accordingly
I set to work to reach him, I being in a city distant 113 miles
from London.
I sat myself down in a chair in my bedroom before a black concave
mirror, and
endeavored to picture him in my mind. He had told me that if I could
get him to
move, or to do something, when I had thoroughly visualised him, I
would then be
en rapport with him sufficiently to impress any message that I
wanted to
convey. So, there I sat until I could see him as clearly with my
mind's eye as
I could with my physical optic organ. When I had thus visualised
him I
mentally told him to turn his head and look at me, which he did; and then
I willed him
to raise his right arm and take his watch from his pocket, which
was done. Now
a peculiar thing occurred. Although I could see him I could not
see the watch
that he was, I concluded, holding in his hand. It occurred to me
that if I
could occupy his position I might then be able to see it, so I slipped
into his
place and looked through his eyes and then saw his watch. So soon as I
had noted the
time, ten minutes to eight, I lost sight of it, and was back again
in my normal
consciousness, feeling very much fatigued with the sustained mental
effort, and
though the events were quite clear in my memory, there was, I had to
admit to
myself, no decided proof of any direct contact with him. It struck me
that it might
have been simply a keen imagination, notwithstanding the inner
conviction
that I had really reached him. I had been sitting there since seven,
and it was
now ten minutes to eight, and had to all intents and purposes
accomplished
nothing. I felt disappointed and weary, but before retiring for the
night I
determined to try again, thinking that I might effect what I wanted
during sleep,
perhaps more easily than by the method I had just tried. About
half-past
nine I got into bed, but not as usual. This time for some reason I had
put the
pillow at the foot of the bed, and now laid myself down on my chest,
spreading my
arms out at right-angles to the body, resting my chin on the
pillow. I had
remained in this position it seemed barely a minute, recalling the
picture I had
seen of my brother, when I suddenly felt a thrill of intense
electrical
energy pass up my spine terminating in a pin-point in the centre of
my head.
Whether it was hot or cold I cannot say, but it was excruciatingly
painful. Then
it seemed to burst, and I was aware of standing in my room looking
at a golden
luminous mass in the midst of which was a watch. It was a Geneva
lever, very
thin, with glass front and silver case, engraved all over the back,
in which
there were three dents; it had a silver dial with gold ornamented
figures and
gold hands. I knew instinctively that it was my brother's watch, and
felt too that
if I wanted to know anything about it, I had only to apply my mind
to the
subject and everything was open to me. Looking at it, I became aware that
the time was
marking ten minutes to eight, and so soon as I had noticed this I
was back in
my body and awake, so I then turned over and went to sleep. In the
morning when
I awoke I put my hand under my pillow and reached for my watch, and
was not
surprised to find that this also indicated “ten minutes to eigh?”. This
is a common
experience with many people, that if they go to sleep thinking of
the time at
which they ought to get up, they will invariably wake at that time.
Hastily I
washed and dressed, then went down to breakfast. My brother James
(another
brother) was there having his eggs and bacon, and seeing me enter
exclaimed:
‘Hallo, Ned, what's the matter with you? Haven't you slept? You look
washed out.’
But instead of answering his question I asked: ‘Has John got a
watch, a
Geneva lever with silver case engraved all over the back, three dents
in it and
with gold ornamented figures?’ At the mention of each particular he
looked more
surprised, and at last said: ‘Yes, but you never saw that watch. I
only sent it
to him a fortnight ago!’”
“About three
weeks after I had a letter from my brother John, saying that he was
coming home
to see us, and asking me to meet him at the station, but stating no
time of
arrival. I went however to meet the train that I thought most likely.”
“Soon I saw him
coming down the hill (he saw me at the same time), and I waited
for him to
come up. As soon as he arrived he put his hand in mine and we both
exclaimed in
the same breath: ‘Ten minutes to eight’. I should have remarked
that we had
not written to each other on the subject of our experiments, but it
is evident
from our greeting that we were both equally sure that the other knew
all about
it.”
“The
experience of the writer when lying on the bed,” remarked the Vagrant,
“shows that
this is not a mere case of telepathy. The acute pain, the sense of
explosion,
and the subsequent state show that he went out of his body in full
consciousness.
It is rather a pity that his mind was fixed on so trivial a
matter.”
“Casual
experiences which are not the direct result of training, and which lead
up to nothing
in particular, are not uncommon,” said the Shepherd. Here is a
letter
relating one, from a Matron of a convalescent Home in England.
“A strange
thing happened to me last summer (1908). We had a patient at W---,
Nurse K---,
who was very ill, and I think she was very sensitive and altogether
rather
strange. She said to me the day she arrived: ‘You are a Theosophist.’ I
replied: ‘How
did you know?’ and she said she knew directly she saw me. Then a
few days
after she said: ‘Does it tire you or disturb you to come down to me at
nights as you
do, because if it does I won't bring you down, though it is a
great comfort
to have you come.’ I told her I had never been down to her in the
night, but
she insisted that when she was in great pain, and wished for me, I
always came
and held her hand till she got better. After that she told me
several times
that I had come and comforted her in the night, and after she had
left us she
wrote to me that one night she had wished for me very much, and I
had come and
kissed her and held her hand. ‘That time’, she said, ‘you had a
dress on that
I did not know and did not like.’ She came back to us very soon
after that,
and I met her at the door in this same dress, that she had not seen
before.”
“These
experiences are naturally becoming more common,” said the Vagrant, “as
the race is
entering on the borderland to an ever-increasing extent. It is all
the more
necessary that sound knowledge should be spread on these matters, in
order that
the dangers which arise from ignorance and fear may be avoided as
much as
possible.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (20)
first
published in the Theosophist, March, 1911, p964-969
“Now, who has
got a story to-day?” asked the Shepherd.
“I have one,
and a very interesting one,” answered the Inspector and began:
“A friend of
mine, an officer in the Police Department of this Presidency, told
me not long
ago a very curious story and asked me if I could explain it in a
satisfactory
way. He said that a report was once made to him of a theft by
burglary in
one of the villages that lay within his official jurisdiction. The
mistress of
the house feelingly implored him to leave no stone unturned in the
detection of
the culprits, as she and her husband had been reduced to utter
starvation by
the theft, which was all they possessed and which was the only
means of
their livelihood. He deeply sympathised with the lady and promised to
do his best
in the matter. He caused secret enquiries to be made. On a certain
night he had
a very vivid and clear dream to the effect that if the house of X.
were
carefully searched, the lost property would be discovered. On the morrow he
sent for the
chief officers of the village where X. dwelt and asked them what
they thought
of the character, of that individual. They were unanimous in giving
him an
exceptionally good and honest character, and added that he owned
extensive
lands and was unremitting in the alleviation of the sufferings of the
sick and the
poor. On hearing this, my friend thought that the dream was one of
the ordinary
meaningless sort, and that it would be highly improper to proceed
on the
strength of it. But that night the dream repeated itself even more
vividly than
on the previous occasion; he therefore made up his mind to search
the house
indicated at break of day. Accordingly, he went to X.'s residence and
enquired if
he knew anything of the theft. He was considerably alarmed at this,
and most
vigorously protested his ignorance and innocence of the affair, But his
faltering
voice, his guilty looks, his prevarication, when interrogated on
certain
points, confirmed my friend's suspicions and he would have ordered the
search of the
house, had not the men of the village protested with one voice
against what
they considered to be an unmerited insult to one of their local
magnates; and
the victims of the theft themselves persuaded him to withdraw from
the scene
which became very uproarious. My friend dreamt again for the third
time, and
then he determined to carry out his design at all costs, and went the
next day and
ordered his subordinates to search the house thoroughly. In the
course of
their search they came to a spot which looked very suspicious, and on
digging there
they lighted upon the property which had been stolen. It was duly
returned to
its owners, who were much emaciated by sorrow and starvation, and
the dream of
my friend which at first seemed absurd was well verified.”
“So the dream
came true, and it is a good instance of astral activity producing
result on the
physical plane,” said the Superintendent.
“Yes, that's
so,” said the Shepherd; “any more stories?”
“I have a
queer tale to tell, sir,” said the Wanderer, “may I?”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, I call
it a strong presentiment. During the last year of the South
African
Campaign we found ourselves once more in Standerton - a town very
strongly held
and used as a base of operations in that district. The flying
column had
come to rest, sadly in want of remounts and a change from the
interminable
monotony of tracking across the endless Veldt in pursuit of an ever
disappearing
foe, one who, at odd intervals mysteriously reformed upon our flank
or rear,
feinted a little, sniped a bit, and then when you turned upon them,
elusively
melted once more into the air.”
“For the time
being we became part of the garrison posted beneath the shadow of
the great
Kop, an impregnable position dominating the surrounding Veldt from the
view-point of
the 4.7 to perhaps eight odd miles away, the base of another giant
Kopje up
along the Vaal.”
“We soon
found it was the custom to send out every morning various outposts
around the
town to watch the approaches and prevent the looting of cattle. Now
it so
happened that grass was becoming short in all the open country roundabout,
and it was
determined to send the cattle up along the bank of the Vaal, where
there was
still plenty of food. This had not hitherto been attempted because of
the extreme
difficulty of the country on this side.”
“Next
morning, however, I received orders to post the guard in this direction,
and select
the best available position. In the early dawn we rode out to a tract
of land
between the great Kopje and the Vaal - as difficult a place as one could
imagine to
reconnoitre properly with a handful of men. Full of deep dongas,
boulders,
ridges of rock, and deadly undulating eminences all along the edge of
the Veldt,
with an unguarded drift or ford in the Vaal but half a mile away, and
another a few
miles up the twisting river that ran concealed from view below the
level of the
Veldt - until you rode right up to the banks of it! A perfectly
hopeless
place to be in if the enemy were there before you, a series of strong
positions if
you happened to get there first. After reconnoitering the whole
position, I
came to the conclusion that the drift was the point to be watched,
so I posted
the troops in a strong position on a ridge of rocks, with two men on
an elevation
commanding as much of the drift as could be seen. It was then that
the hopeless
nature of the position was born in upon me, because, after retiring
each evening,
we had to take it up again next morning. Moreover the enemy would
be aware of
it. As I stood upon the spot that I had selected, I felt a very
strong
presentiment that it would be the scene of a disaster. The Boers had
merely to
cross the drift, take up this our position, and wait for us.”
“I rode back
feeling we were ‘up against it’. It was not until long afterwards
that I
thought of the full significance of what I felt impelled to do. After
making the
usual report to the O.C., I went back to my tent and sat down to
think it out.
Presently I found myself making a map of the tract of the country
I had ridden
over in the morning, trying to indicate its dangers from the
view-point of
ambush. I then took it to my Colonel and told him all about it,
showing him
the map I had made. He was impressed, and sent it in to the C.O.
saying, ‘I
will mention your suggestion that the drift be held by crossing the
river
opposite Standerton, and approaching from the other side; but after all
its only an
outpost, a cattle-guard, and the closing of the drift might lead to
other
complications, and besides nothing might happen.’ ‘Well, sir’, said I, ‘we
will be
scuppered there some fine morning, and I think as likely as not it will
be
to-morrow.’ ‘Well,’ said the C--- ‘anyhow take more men, and use all the
precautions
you can think of, and tell the officer in charge of the men
to-morrow to
keep a sharp look out.’ It was after all but one of a thousand
guards that
had been posted round about. As the officer whose turn it was to
post the
guard in the morning was feeling seedy, another volunteered, and after
going the
rounds that night I felt impelled once more to tell them all about it,
saying:
‘Anyhow come and see me in the morning, and I will give you a copy of
the map I
have made.’ At day-break, the officer whose turn it was to go, came in
to my tent
and said as he was feeling fit again he was going. As soon as I had
given him
full instructions he rode away with his men, some of whom had been
there on the
previous day.”
“Now,
although my duties did not commence until later in the day, I felt
impelled to
get up and prepare to follow, as I felt something was bound to
happen. So I
slung on my mauser and glasses, and told my orderly to bring the
horses
round.”
“While I was
waiting for what I certainly think no one else expected, another of
our fellows
came along with watering-pots and stood talking to me, asking me
where I was
bound, as it was my morning off. At this moment the sun rose, and I
had just
begun to explain, when suddenly the unmistakable sound of volley
firing,
followed by the continuous clip-clop of the mauser broke the stillness
of the
morning. Almost at once the helio on the Kopje told us that our party was
attacked by
Boers in force.”
“In a moment
the camp flashed into life, and I found myself, after hastily
collecting
all the details, galloping to a support or rescue that I felt would
be hopeless.”
“We dashed
through the dongas and out upon the Veldt, and then I discovered a
party of
Bushmen (old friends of mine), whom I thought at first to be some Boers
playing the
decoy, hustling away on my flank to hold the further drift. It was
cautious
work, approaching the scene of action, as the Boers with the drift
behind them
might still be waiting to give us a warm reception and account for a
few more of
us. Soon, however, we came across a sergeant of ours shot through
the chin
(which however he lived to get over), and farther on, upon the high
elevation
overlooking the drift on which I had told him to post his guard, I
found the
officer and two of his men with whom he had ridden on to reconnoitre,
riddled with
bullets. It seems that he had had time to turn and warn his men
but, as was
inevitable, it was all too late to do anything in such a hopeless
position.”
“It was all
over but the shouting; true we caused those Boers to hustle, and
some natives
told us that in consequence they had to bury five of them, but as I
did not see
it done, it is very much open to doubt. However, I did a
considerable
lot of thinking as to the wisdom of following the lead of strong
presentiments.”
“A few days
after I escorted the General of Division over the ground, and he
confirmed my
opinion from the strategic view-point saying; ‘No more guards must
be posted in
this direction without permanent occupation, it would require a
column to
hold it properly.’”
“Yes, that
may be,” the Magian interrupted, “but time is up, the twilight is
long past,
and from this refreshment we must wend our way to labor; next
twilight hour
I will read to you a very interesting story that comes from
abroad.”
“Good,” said
the Shepherd, “and you will find us eager listeners.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (21)
first
published in the Theosophist, May, 1911, p290-296
“This comes
from a lady friend in England, not a member of our Society,” said
the Magian.
“The facts of this story are known in the locality, and it seems to
me
interesting enough to read at our meeting.”
“Read away,”
said the Vagrant, and the Magian read:
In a
beautifully wooded part of the country in the Shire of ----- there stands a
picturesque old
Hall, surrounded by gardens and park, once well cared for, now
neglected and
dreary looking. The Hall itself, with its handsome gables,
mullioned
windows, fine terrace with stone balcony, and old-fashioned sun-dial,
looks as
though it ought to have been the scene of happiness and contentment,
not of the
strange and sad events I am about to relate.
In the year
which saw Napoleon banished to S. Helena, the last survivors of the
family to
whom the estate belonged were two brothers. The elder was an officer
in the
English army; the younger a clergyman, Rector of a small Church not far
from the
Hall. He was a widower, and had one child, a girl. Soon after Colonel
N. came into
his inheritance, his regiment was ordered to India; and, knowing
that it would
probably be years before he returned home, he placed the
management of
his property in his brother's hands, persuading him to leave the
Rectory and
take up his residence at the Hall.
Some years
passed: communication at that time between England and India was
neither easy
nor frequent; and Colonel N., a keen officer, engrossed in his
duties, soon
ceased to write to his brother; and the Rector, settled at the
Hall,
absolute master of everything, began to look upon himself as owner, and
upon his daughter,
to whom he was devotedly attached, as heiress to the
property.
Unfortunately
however for his dreams and plans, Colonel N. married a young Irish
girl, whom he
tenderly loved. Her death at the end of two years, leaving him a
baby girl,
Mona, nearly broke his heart. Six months later the Colonel was
attacked by
fever; and feeling he would not recover, he began to settle his
affairs, and
to make arrangements for the future welfare of his child. He placed
her in the
care of his Indian servant, Hassim, giving him at the same time all
his money and
the jewels which had belonged to his wife, together with a letter
to his
brother, and papers proving the validity of his marriage. He made Hassim
solemnly
promise to take his little daughter to England, as soon as possible
after his
death, and deliver her into the guardianship of her uncle.
Hassim,
faithful to his promise, after seeing his kind and generous master laid
in his grave,
started on his long journey with Mona; and, after a stormy voyage
and many
difficulties, owing to his imperfect knowledge of the English language,
found himself
and the child, one cold, foggy, autumn evening, at the gates of
the old
mansion.
Although
unable to discredit his story, the Rector gave them a cold reception;
and it did
not take Hassim long to realise how unwelcome the little heiress was,
and how
gladly her uncle would get rid of them both, could he do so. This put
Hassim on his
guard; and as time went on, the difference made in the treatment
of his little
mistress and her cousin filled him with indignation and anger.
While the one
was surrounded with every luxury, and treated with kindness and
consideration,
as though she were the heiress, Mona, the rightful owner, was
banished to
the servants' quarters, and allowed to grow up in ignorance and
neglect.
Powerless to alter this terrible injustice, Hassim brooded over the
poor child's
wrongs until he could no longer keep silence. With a courage born
of his
devotion and fidelity, he one day sought Mr N.'s presence; and in his
broken
English, deep emotion choking his voice, he reminded him how absolutely
his brother
had trusted him with his daughter's happiness and welfare; that she,
and not his
own daughter, was owner of the estate; and implored him to treat
Mona from
that day with justice and kindness. Livid with rage, raising his hand
as though
about to strike him, Mr N., in a loud and angry voice, commanded him
to leave the
room and never to mention the subject to him again.
Poor Hassim
was overcome with grief at the failure of his appeal. Living at the
Hall only on
sufferance, a stranger in a foreign land, possessing neither money
nor
influence, he could only watch over his beloved charge with ever greater
solicitude,
hoping that as she grew older, her wrongs would become known, and
that she
would be restored to her rightful inheritance. With this end in view,
Hassim
constantly talked to Mona, telling her she must never forget that the
Hall and
everything in it belonged to her; and that when she was old enough, she
must tell
some one about it whom she could trust to send her uncle away, and
help her to
take possession of her own property.
Now, it is
said that one evening, Hassim and Mona were sitting in a secluded
part of the
terrace, overlooking the lake, talking of her father, and of how
different
things would be were he alive, when suddenly the Rector appeared
before them.
He spoke sternly and angrily to his niece, and bade her return to
her duties,
and not idle away her time in foolish conversation. When she had
disappeared,
pale and trembling, the Rector turned to the Indian and threatened
to send him
away, unless he promised never to talk to his niece about those
things again.
Hassim, drawing himself up to his full height, his dark eyes
flashing with
righteous anger, called Heaven to witness the injustice done to
his master's
daughter, and pronounced a solemn curse on Mr N. and his
descendants,
as long as the rightful owner was kept from her lawful inheritance.
Mr N.,
transported with rage, struck the Indian on the head with the heavy stick
he carried,
and the poor man fell to the ground, dead, the victim of a cruel
man's
ambition!
The murderer
was horrified at the result of the blow. With the usual instinct of
self-preservation,
his first thought was to hide the body. Dragging it to the
edge of the
terrace, he threw it into the lake. Then, returning to the house, he
called the
butler to him, and told him he had found it necessary to send Hassim
away, and
that he would never return. He also gave orders that his niece should
be sent on a
visit to a farmer living some miles away, saying that the change
would help
her to forget her servant.
It was easier
in those days than it would be now to avoid suspicion, and Mr N.
hoped that
now he was relieved from the presence he hated, he would be able to
pursue his
plans unhindered. The cruel murder was not however to go unavenged;
rumors began
to circulate among the servants that Hassim had been made away
with, and
that his ghost had been seen walking in the park. One night, the
footman, who
had been out late, came in shaking with terror, declaring he had
seen the
Indian standing at the edge of the lake, that he had suddenly
disappeared, and
that he had heard a loud splash, as though something had been
thrown into
the water. On another occasion, a laborer, returning from his work,
saw the
white-robed figure of Hassim standing in front of him, who, pointing to
the lake,
vanished. Moreover, strange voices which could not be accounted for
were heard in
the house. One evening, the butler vowed that when going into the
library to
close the shutters, he saw Hassim standing by the window, his hands
raised as
though in supplication.
Mr N., overcome
by a guilty conscience and cowardly fears, hardly dared to be
alone, and
never went out after dark; one evening he had been found by a
gardener,
crouching on a seat on the terrace, half dead with fright at something
he had seen!
From that time nothing seemed to prosper with him. To his great
sorrow, the
daughter he loved so well, and for whose sake he had done so much
wrong, had a
severe illness which affected her brain; and the servants whispered
with bated
breath that she too had seen ‘something’ which had frightened her
wits away.
After a time
the Rector could no longer endure his life, and decided to shut up
the Hall, and
go abroad. With this end in view, in order to raise money for his
immediate
expenses, he told his agent to cut down some trees in the park, and
sell the
timber. The order was given, and the work of destruction began; but at
the first
blow of the axe, a voice, which seemed to come from the sky, said:
“This tree is
mine!” A second tree was struck, and again the voice said: “This
tree is
mine!” Urged by the agent, the terrified men began to cut another; but
once more the
voice said, “This tree is mine! this tree is mine!” The men could
no longer
bear it; throwing down their tools, they rushed from the wood; nor
could they
ever, either by threats or promises, be persuaded to return to the
place again.
When the agent, agitated by what he too had heard, told Mr N. of
the
occurrence, the weird story proved too much for him, weakened as he was by
the burden of
his awful crime, and all the consequences he had had to endure. He
was struck
with paralysis, from which he never recovered, and died at the end of
a few days.
His daughter, brought up by strangers, was, although half-witted,
forced into a
loveless marriage, on account of her wealth, and died eventually
insane. Her
cousin's fate is unknown, but it is believed in the village, by the
old people,
whose grand-parents were young when these things happened, that she
married a
farm-laborer, and that they emigrated to America.
Hassim is
still said to haunt the scene of his murder;; and, to this day, the
country
people dare not walk through the wood at night, where the voices were
heard. The
Hall stands uninhabited and desolate, a witness to the truth of the
saying:
The Curse
causeless shall not come.
“A good
story,” commented the Vagrant, “though the end is disappointing. Poor
Hassim ruined
his murderer, but failed to save the child he loved.”
“And here is
still another story from a different correspondent, this time a
personal
experience,” said the Magian, and read:
I dreamt, on
the morning of Thursday, July 14, 1910 - between six and seven
o'clock in
the morning - that I was standing in a room in the company of others.
I had the
impression that I was abroad, and was standing in either a Chapel or
in a large
and lofty room in one of the historic Châteaux of France. But I saw
no details of
my surroundings, as my attention was concentrated on a girl who
was acting as
my guide, and who was dressed, it seemed to me, in one of the
pretty
foreign costumes now rarely, if ever, seen.
“Yes, it is
haunted here,” this girl said, “and I have the gift of seeing the
poor
unfortunate one.”
“Try to see
him now,” somebody - I do not know who - said.
The girl
placed her hand on the panelled wall of the room, shut her eyes, and
seemed to
withdraw her consciousness inwards.
“I see him,”
she said, and then looking straight at me: “Do you not also see? It
seems to me
you should.”
“I feel a
dark and lonely presence. I see nothing,” I answered,
The scene
changed. I was taking part in an al fresco fête. The sun was shining,
and all
around me was gay and festive. Suddenly I became conscious of a man,
dressed in
sombre black, curiously cut and fashioned, resembling somewhat a
monk's dress,
or the Geneva robe of a cleric, and whom, though he looked human
and of flesh
and blood consistency, I knew, directly my eyes fell upon him, to
be the ghost
of the room I had previously visited. This man approached me, and
though he did
not speak to me, his presence made me aware of his misery and his
desire for
help. His nearness conveyed to me the dreadfulness of the fate that
was his,
condemned as he felt himself to be - though why I do not know - to
dwell betwixt
heaven and earth, a habitant of neither, feared and shunned by all
who could
perceive him, lonely and lost in misery. And I knew that only in that
old
oak-panelled room could I do aught to help him.
And with the
thought again I found myself in that large and lofty room, and now
facing its
ghostly occupant. But his mood had changed. No longer a suppliant,
but defiant
and triumphant, the man faced me, and I stood before him with my
arms raised,
my hands spread outward to ward off his closer approach; but he
leapt upon
me, crying, as he pressed his fingers to mind and I distinctly felt
the contact
of each finger, and knew his purpose was to draw vitality from mine:
“You shall
not! You shall not! You are human, and I too am becoming human again”
- and as he
spoke I felt his fingers as they clung to mine tighten their hold,
become more
solid, warmer, living, in a word, distinctly human: “I, at any rate,
am now alive,
am conscious of existence. If you work your will on me, how do I
know what
then will be my fate? I may vanish into space and nothingness,” and,
frantic with
terror, it appeared he tried by brute force to bear me down. I
stood firm.
Slowly firmly, I drew into myself the infinite strength that ever
surrounds us;
so fortified, I set every power I possessed on loosening the tie
that bound
the man before me to this place, and to his present fate. Suddenly he
disappeared
and was not, and I knew that my purpose was accomplished and I
awoke.
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (22)
first
published in the Theosophist, Sept, 1911, p900-908
“The
following is sent by a reliable correspondent,” said the Vagrant, and read
as follows:
There is a
little girl of four years of age in Melbourne (Australia), who
repeatedly
tells to such of her friends as she feels to be sympathetic the
following
experience:
“When I was
big before (grown-up), I had a different mother altogether, not at
all like the
one I have now. I always had to go to school then, and my teacher
was always so
hard on me; he thrashed me continually, When I was bigger still,
they took my
mother away from me one day, and we all had to travel till we
reached a
great forest. There a lot of soldiers came and caught me; some cried
out to me:
“Go to the devil!” and then they shot me.”
When asked if
that happened in Melbourne the reply came: “No, in Merika.”
The child
never varies in any details when telling the experience; she has her
little head
full of many other incidents of that time, but is very reluctant to
speak about
it. Her present physical parents, when interviewed by some of our
members, had
never heard of reincarnation, and made sure that it was all only
the child's
imagination; at the same time they were greatly puzzled as to where
the child
should have got her ideas from, as she had lived with them nearly all
her life in
seclusion in the country, hardily ever coming into contact with
other people
or children. The little girl herself is very small for her age,
while her
eyes have the expression of an old grown-up individual. I am sorry to
have to add
that her present life will probably be a very short one.
“Here is a
narrative from a brother Theosophist, whose act of self-sacrifice
ought to be
an example; and it is a good Twilight story also,” said the
Shepherd.
“It was the
evening of 24th July, 1910, and two young friends of twenty-eight
and thirty
years of age were going for a walk. One of them sensed all of a
sudden some
sort of a peculiar smell. He asked the other friend: Do you notice a
bad smell?”
‘No,’ replied the other. Within two or three minutes the smell
passed away.
Next evening the same two friends went out for a walk as usual, and
again at the
same time (probably 5:45 pm), but a mile away from the place of the
day before,
the same young man noticed the same sort of smell. Then and there he
stopped, and
began to look around him with a positive attitude. He could not see
anything with
his physical eyes, but he somehow felt that some evil entity was
standing at a
distance of about two or three yards. He was staring at the place,
when he
received as it were a mental message from the entity: “Shall I go back
to the
sender?” But the man was a member of the TS and he thought it
untheosophical
to allow an evil thought-form to return to the sender.
He remembered
his Gurudeva, and mentally said “No, don't go back, but discharge
your force
upon myself.” No sooner had he said so, than he felt some dark thing
coming over
his head and covering his whole body, and he at once lost all his
strength. He
was so weak that he was unwilling to walk any further, but somehow
he managed to
keep on, lest his friend might be anxious about his sudden
weakness.
But from the
time the evil entity took possession of his body, he continued to
meditate upon
the unity of all beings, and to send loving thoughts to the entity
itself. After
a few minutes he felt that the entity was sliding down his body,
bit by bit,
and within fifteen minutes or so he felt himself completely
recovered.
All this time
he did not say anything to his friend. After regaining his normal
strength, he
asked his friend whether he had felt any unusual thing while he had
been silent.
The friend said: “I only felt a slight weakness; nothing more.”
Since that
day the man has never noticed any bad smell of the same sort, though
he has often
passed the same place.
“One often
hears,” said the Countess, “that dying people appear to their friends
at a
distance. I also have come across such a case, though the manifestation was
not a very
pleasant one. A young girl, one summer, was invited to spend some
time with her
aunt, who had married a country-gentleman whose old castle was
situated in a
very lovely place in the mountains. She was delighted, for she not
only expected
to have a very merry time in her aunt's house with other
relatives,
but she was also told that she would find there her aunt's mother, an
old lady of
whom she was especially fond, and for whom she felt deep love and
devotion. And
indeed the young girl had not expected too much: every day was a
day of joy,
the elder members of the family spending much time in entertaining
their young
guests.
So the days
passed on until duties called the young girl to her paternal home.
Only by
letters she heard from time to time from her relatives in the mountains,
and was glad
to find that her aunt's mother remained in good health. Meanwhile
the winter
came. The girl writes: ‘One morning I awoke while it was still quite
dark outside;
only from my mother's bedroom through the half-opened door a dim
light of a
night-lamp shone. I thought it was too early to get up, and fell
asleep again.
But what was that? Out of my mother's bedroom my great-aunt came,
clad in the
light violet dress she used to wear so often in those happy summer
days. She
approached my bed, she bent over me and clasped me; she pressed me
more and more
closely. I could not breath; I felt as if I must die.’ So the
struggle went
on, but after a time the apparition disappeared, and the young
girl could
breath again. At this moment a clock struck six. It was on a Friday
morning. A
few days later a notice came that the old lady had died on the same
Friday
morning at six o'clock. Did the old lady go in her astral body to the
young girl,
or was the young girl in her astral body at her aunt's death-bed?”
“The old lady
probably visited her,” said the Vagrant, “but in a semi-conscious
state,
conscious of love for the girl, and not conscious that she was showing it
in rather an
uncomfortable manner. Most likely, also, the girl was frightened,
and the
fright made her feel as if she were choking.”
“The
following experience has been sent to me,” said the Shepherd, “but I do not
quite see
what occurred. My correspondent write?”:
At the
beginning of the Russo-Japanese War I had in my employ a Japanese
house-servant,
who could not speak or read English. He came to me daily when his
work was
finished with the newspapers, saying the same thing each time: “Madame,
Japan-Russia?”
This was the extent of his English. I would then endeavor by
signs - plans
of water-color and pencil-drawings - to make him understand the
news. Had it
not been for his intense desire to know the news of the war, I
scarcely
think I should have read the papers or war news at all, although my
sympathies
were with Japan; yet I was not at first at all enthusiastic. Finally
a peculiar
enthusiasm took possession of me in which I apparently took no part;
independently
of myself it possessed me. This occurred at home, on street-cars
or elsewhere.
I tried to throw it off. It continued to get hold of me long after
the little
Japanese had been called home by his government.
Sometimes I
felt myself to be riding a powerful horse which leaped and sprang
over all
difficulties, and I was encouraging, inspiring vast armies to follow
and pursue
the enemy. On and on my noble white horse rushed, or flew, for he
knew as well
as I that for the moment we were the central power and strength
from which
the great armies drew their enthusiasm. I tried to throw this off
with all my
force, and succeeded, but only for a short time. But almost
immediately I
again found myself riding the superbly wonderful horse, springing
forward in
mid-air, sometimes leaping over great armies that I might guide them
from danger.
At the time I felt that I not only foresaw the danger, but had the
power to save
the soldiers from it by guiding them. I was filled with this
wonderful
enthusiasm.
This thing
continued off and on, spreading over about four months, but ended
about the
middle of the war, from which time I have not had any such experience.
I was
conscious of my condition, never losing consciousness, yet I was absorbed
in the thing
taking place. Apparently I was there riding at the head of armies,
an
inspiration to the Japanese and often a horror and terror to the Russians
when they saw
me riding in mid-air, for I saw them crouch and turn back many
times. I
cannot give any reason for this experience, but it absorbed my whole
being for the
time; I am sure I am not a Joan of Arc.
“Do you not
think,” said the Vagrant, “that the ‘peculiar enthusiasm’ explains
it? You know
how often we have found novices on the astral plane identifying
themselves
with the people whom they were trying to help - being blown up in an
explosion for
example. Fired by the enthusiasm of her Japanese servant, she
threw herself
on the Japanese side, and very likely associated herself with some
cavalry
leader. By the way, I had a queer experience in that same war. Awaking
one morning,
when I had been helping the slaughtered in a great battle, I heard
- after I was
awake - the thunder of the guns, the yells, moans, shrieks and
other noises
that render a battle-field so horrible. All the intolerable tumult
was ringing
round me.”
“You must have
been half in and half out of the body,” remarked the Shepherd,
“but so clear
a hearing prolonged into waking consciousness is unusual.”
“Here is a
good instance,” said the Banker, “of how a strong thought can
overcome
distance, and even though it be only for a moment, extend the
consciousness,
so that it can see and know, though it may never have been to a
certain
place.”
“Several
years ago, on the last day of the year, we had a little meeting of
Theosophists
in my house, as is our custom, to see the New Year in and to send
auspicious
thoughts to our brothers all the world over. My wife and I had
retired after
the others had left, and I was in bed thinking over again the
thoughts connected
with our meeting and with the past and the opening year.
Before going
to sleep I thought I should like to send Mrs Besant a thought of
good wishes
and devotion, and told my wife I was going to do so. I closed my
eyes and
began thinking of her. Almost immediately I seemed to be in front of a
door with
glass panes, the approach to which was up two or three steps. I drew
close up to
it and looked in. In front of me was a long room, up which I could
not see very
well to the end, as the light was not strong. It appeared to be
early morning
- sunrise or soon after. Immediately in front of me, a little to
the right,
was a small low table, and on it were papers and letters; this table
or desk
appeared to be set on a raised platform or settee, but only a foot high
from this.
There were no chairs in the room. There appeared to be a strip of
cane or
Japanese matting down the length of the room, and a rug or mat near the
settee. What
takes long to describe was of course an instantaneous impression,
for, as I
looked, I saw Mrs Besant far off at the end of the room, coming down
it towards my
end.”
“She was
dressed in some cream-colored material, much as she always is. She came
at once to
the little table, put on her pince-nez, and with her left hand took
up some
papers on the left of her desk, or little table. She was proceeding to
examine
these, when suddenly she seemed to be aware of my vicinity to her behind
the door with
the glass panes. She looked over her pince-nez straight at me, and
as she did so
her face suddenly seemed to be coming, as it were from the end of
a telescope,
right at me, and growing larger and larger as it came until it was
huge and
seemed to burst on me, which caused me to come to myself with a jerk.
All this
again took only a moment. Yet I was not at all asleep: only abstracted
in thought. I
at once gave my wife, whom I had told that I was going to think of
Mrs Besant, a
description there and then of the experience just as I have now
told it; and
I added: ‘You see, there is not much in these things; for it is
just past two
o'clock at night and yet it seemed to me it was early morning and
the sun was
just up.” After a little she replied: “Oh! but wait; what is the
difference in
time between here and India? Would it not be early morning there?”
This made me
realise that it well might be so; for Italy is nearly an hour east
of Greenwich,
and India roughly five to five and a half hours; so that, in round
figures, the
time corresponding to my thought of Mrs Besant will have been in
India
somewhere near 6:30 am.
“This
rendered the whole thing rather more remarkable. The whole occurrence was
noted in my
diary, and I decided some time or other to satisfy myself that such
a room as I
had seen existed. I had no idea where Mrs Besant was at the time,
and having
only been in the Society two or three years, had no immediate
possibility
of verifying the matter one way or the other. When last year I came
out to Adyar
for the first time, I had the thought of this experience uppermost
in my mind as
I approached Mrs Besant's room at Headquarters, and was much
disappointed
when I got there to find that it did not resemble in any way the
room I had
seen on that last day of the year some years back. True, there was a
settee or
platform with a little low table on it, but the room was too square,
the windows
were all wrong, there were no steps leading up to the place I had
looked in at.
Nothing quite fitted my idea of what the room ought to have been.
So I left it
at that. Then it occurred to me it might be at Benares. Perhaps at
Shânti Kunja.
I had no chance last year of going to Benares, and returned to
Europe
without having verified my vision one way or the other.”
“This year,
however, circumstances took me to Benares. Again the sought-for room
was in my
mind as I approached Benares, and was being driven by kind friends in
the very
early morning before sunrise to Shânti Kunja, Mrs Besant's house. The
first room
into which we entered - it was still fairly dark - had a large settee
such as I
have described, but, alas, this was not the hoped-for room; the shape
was all
wrong, the chanki was too large - all was wrong. I practically, I don't
know why,
concluded that must be Mrs Besant's room, and that again the physical
fact
demonstrated that the transient vision had erred - so there was no use
bothering
about it any further. Yet as I so thought, we were passing down and
through another
room; but partly because it was early and there was only one
lantern, and
partly because the windows at the end gave little light and were
closed, I
could not see anything of it.”
“Yet I seemed
to feel it familiar; but, disappointed as I had been, I rather
stifled any
further thought about it and presently passed out on to the verandah
without
further question or examination. We had our chota-hazri, or little
breakfast, on
the verandah presently, and the sun meantime rose higher. I got up
from my place
and looked in at the window of the room we had passed through,
giving on to
the verandah - and there was my long-sought room and all the
conditions
just as I had seen them!”
“The early
morning; behind me were the steps up to the verandah; I was standing
behind the
window giving on to the verandah, which on account of the wood used
might well
have been described by me as ‘a door with panes of glass;’ there in
front of me
stretched a longish room not very well lit, with the settee and the
desk a little
on the right as I looked; on it were papers; behind me was the sun
and the
morning. It but wanted Mrs Besant to walk down it and to look at me over
her
pince-nez. But she was in Burma, so this part of the realisation could not
take effect.
I at once asked whose room it was I was looking in at, and my
friend told
me it was Mrs Besant's room, then actually used by Mr Arundale
whilst
repairs were going on in his quarters.”
“I think that
as a bit of first-hand evidence of seeing in thought a place I
knew nothing
of thousands of miles away, the above has many points of interest.”
“It certainly
has,” said the Vagrant, “and it would be a little difficult even
for a
psychical researcher to ascribe to telepathy the picture of a room you did
not know when
I was not thinking of you. It may be recorded as a useful piece of
evidence.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (23)
first published
in the Theosophist, Jan, 1912, p589-594
“It is
curious,” said the Vagrant, “to notice the confusion of past, present and
future which
occurs in the astral experiences of neophytes in the astral world.
Here, for
instance, is a record sent me by a very serious and thoughtful member,
who came into
the inner circle of the Society in the time of HPB. He was, in
fact, one of
her first pupils. He says that his heart had become much affected
after he had
witnessed two death-scenes in the astral world, and had suddenly
and excitedly
rushed back to the physical body; he found himself obliged to move
very slowly
and carefully, using a cane. He says:”
“At both of
these occurrences the body received a great shock. I was not
frightened
when back in the body; I had no particular feeling about it; but the
heart-beats
were extremely irregular and queer. The first happened in the early
morning of
April 9, 1888. I saw a man by the name of Jonas Anderson, related to
me by
marriage, kill himself. I could bring back no particulars of the sad
happening,
only the bare fact. I waited for the Swedish mail; it came, and the
papers
contained the notice that on that very night one of my friends and
colleagues,
Magnus Elmblad, had died suddenly at Stockholm, supposedly by taking
poison. In
letters from home I heard that the man whose suicide I had witnessed
was alive and
well.” “This,” I thought, “is merely a quid pro quo.” And there I
left it. In
1895 Anderson did really commit suicide. So I had seen what was
going to
happen, but was too dull and too ignorant to go and tell Anderson while
in the astral
world how bad it would be for him to take his own life, as it now
seems to me
that I was given an opportunity to do.
The second
death scene I saw one morning in October, 1888. Before me lay a
narrow
country road on a hillside, with a sharp curve in the middle. There came
a fine
carriage; the two horses before it trotted at a quick speed. In the
carriage sat
Count Eric Sparre, Governor of my native province in Sweden,
Inspector of
my College and father of one of my schoolmates. At the curve in the
road the
carriage was dashed to the ground, and the Count was killed. As a
matter of
fact, the Count had been killed in exactly this way on the 17th of
June, 1886. I
seem to have witnessed those two death scenes from a plane on
which past,
present and future are not so well separated as down here. After
these
shakings my body was weak for over a year, and our family physician
ordered me to
take digitalis for it, advising me to move slowly and be extremely
careful, as I
otherwise might fall down dead any minute. I followed his advice.’
“The latter
case is simple enough,” went on the Vagrant, “for our friend merely
saw the
astral picture of an event that had happened. In the first, a confusion
apparently
occurred in bringing through the memory, as the event happened at the
time at which
it was seen, but the person concerned was changed; the strange
thing is that
the very person who was seen to kill himself did kill himself
seven years
later. It may have been that the first suicide was witnessed, that
the ego of
the seer, looking forward, saw Mr Anderson's danger and tried to
impress a
warning on the brain of his lower vehicle, and that the two things
became mixed
up in the etheric brain, and reached the ordinary brain in this
curiously
substituted form.”
“Another
experience, sent by this same member, is very instructive. He writes:
‘On
Wednesday, September 18, 1889, on the way from my home to the street-car
line, I had
to cross a street where they were digging a sewer. Proceeding very
slowly, I saw
the wide dug-out and wondered how I could cross it, as I was
unable to
jump over, and as it was also difficult to hobble over on barrow
boards, in
case there were any laid across. "But", I reasoned, "this body
is not
myself."
I fixed my eyes on a spot at the opposite side of the chasm, thinking
at the same
moment: “I am there already.” Now comes the queer experience. I was
actually
there, as quick as I had thought it, feeling that the body for a moment
was walking a
short distance behind me, moving at my will, steadily and
automatically.
I myself was over the chasm, and I soon had the body with me,
too, joining
it fully on its arrival.’ Perhaps others of you have had some such
experience,
especially in the early days of your astral development.?”
“I have had a
rather unpleasant form of that kind of dual consciousness,” said
Austra, “in
which I found myself, when walking along a London street and
thinking of
crossing it, in the midst of the vehicles. My thought seemed to have
carried my
body thither, without my brain consciousness.”
“That was
rather a dangerous form of it”, remarked a new-comer, smiling, “for if
the body
follows the astral consciousness without knowing what it is doing, it
may run
considerable risks.”
“It does run
such risks sometimes,” said the Shepherd. “One of our members, some
years ago,
walked physically out of a window of a fourth-floor room, and fell
into the
street below, with no consciousness that she was acting in anything but
the astral
body. Such instances are fortunately rare.”
“It would
seem that children are often unconscious of the difference between the
physical and
astral worlds,” said a member. “They see forms and events in the
astral world
and talk about them, and are sometimes even punished for
untruthfulness
when they recount, as things that have ‘really’ happened, facts
that, to
their elders, are merely fancies.”
“That is
unhappily true,” answered the Vagrant, “and it is cruelly hard on the
children.
Besides, disbelief in what they say blunts their moral sense; it is
always better
to take it for granted that a child is telling the truth, for even
if he is
saying what he knows to be false, trust begets shame in him for the
deception,
and he rises to the trust reposed in him. Our correspondent tells us
also of a
very wonderful vision he had of the Lord Buddha, when he was lying in
danger of his
physical life from the weakness of his heart already mentioned. He
saw the Lord
- his own eyes being wide open - sitting in a dazzling light on a
lotus-throne,
and the Presence sent warm rays, as of the sun, through and
through him;
a few hours later, he arose from his bed, and the heart-weakness
had gone,
never since to return. After some years, a great wish arose in him to
see again
that blessed vision, and he sat down and closed his eyes, breathing
that wish.
What followed is very instructive, and I read it in his own words:”
“Immediately
upon closing the eyes I saw the beautiful artistic designs that
usually come
first to me on entering the astral realm. They were clearly
outlined and
daintily coloured,” “No,” I thought at once, “I do not want to look
at these
no?”. The scenes changed quickly. I saw now all kinds of flowers. They
had very
delicate colours and seemed to be made out of soft, somewhat subdued,
light. It
looked magnificent. “No”, I thought, “not tha?”. Then there came a new
kaleidoscopic
change, and I saw a veritable Garden of Eden: trees and shrubs and
fields that
looked like a concentration of multi-coloured sun-rays. The scenery
gave an
impression of sweetness, harmony and peace. “No,” I thought again, “not
that,
either.” Another change, and now everywhere around me I saw myriads of
beautiful
heads and faces and eyes, angelic in expression, approaching and
receding in
rhythmical, wave-like movements all the time. “No,” I thought, “I
want to see
once more the Blessed One, at whose Lotus-Feet one third of our race
bends down in
worship, the first Buddha of our humanity:
In earths and heavens and hells incomparable,
The Teacher of Nirvâna and the Law.
Instantly a
quick, soft, rippling sound was distinctly heard. It sounded as when
silk is torn.
And again I saw, this time with my eyes closed, the shining white
Form and
Figure of the Tathagata. Everything else had disappeared.?”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (24)
first
published in the Theosophist, Feb, 1912, p747-754
“I have
received from Hungary,” said the Vagrant, “an interesting account of
some phenomena
familiar enough to students, but apparently unknown there, for
the writer
calls them ‘fantastic, incredible’. It seems that a young
peasant-girl,
living in Korosbanya, was employed as a servant in the house of
the local
Judge, M Balint Doczy. On Christmas Eve, 1910, Dr Zoltan Borbely, a
Registrar,
and his wife were guests of the Judge, and, as midnight struck and as
the party
began to exchange Christmas good wishes, pieces of wood and stone,
clods of
frozen earth, loose grains of corn and dried maize, were suddenly flung
against the
windows and walls of the house. The Judge and his guests startled,
thought that
an attack was being made, and did not observe, in their alarm, that
the
peasant-girl was trembling and was livid with fright. Armed with revolvers
and sticks,
they rushed out of the house, but could see no one. Yet the stones
continued to
fall. They returned to the house, and found the ladies present
trying to
revive the little servant, who had swooned. On her recovery, she
explained,
sobbing, that she was the cause of the tumult: ‘It's not my fault,’
she
whimpered; ‘whenever I stay more than a month in one place, trouble begins;
after the
31st day, stones, clods, bits of wood, ears of maize, are thrown at
me. I don't
know why it is like this. Help me, kind gentlemen, or I shall die.’
Naturally the
Judge did not believe the peasant's story, and as the rain of
stones
gradually diminished, she was put to bed, and the family retired to their
rooms. The
next day, in chambers, the Judge related the events of the preceding
night, and M
Kincses, the Land Registrar, after listening attentively, remarked:
‘This girl
was maidservant in my house in November last, and at the end of a
month, all
sorts of things flew towards her. I did not believe in this kind of
magnetism,
and when she constantly begged to be cured, I thought she was mad,
and sent her
away.’ This confirmation of the phenomena caused much excitement,
and the acts
and movements of the girl were closely watched. Enquiries were made
at Lunka, the
native village of the peasant, and it was found that she could not
remain more
than a month at a time in her parents' house, as at the end of that
period all
sorts of objects were attracted by her. The girl was overwhelmed with
questions,
and related her experiences as follows: ‘Last summer I was taking
care of my
father's sheep in the fields, when, for the first time, a dry ear of
maize flew
towards me. I looked round, but saw no one who could have thrown it
at me. I was
frightened, and began to run away. Wherever I went, the trees on
the road bent
towards me, and the tops of quite high trees bent down to my head.
On the road,
passers-by crossed themselves, for they saw many objects flying
towards me. I
arrived at home exhausted, and I crouched down under a
mulberry-tree,
quite tired out. The flying objects tumbled down all round me,
and there
they still are. Wherever I go, after the 31st day, this witchcraft
begins, and
everything flies towards me. I have to leave my employers, for
everyone
thinks me mad.’ Judge Doczy and Registrar Borbely set to work to study
this
extraordinary case, as did a governess, named Maria Schussel, and all can
bear witness
to this flight of objects towards the servant. Much excitement
arose in the
neighbourhood, no one being willing to believe in the facts. Now
that they are
established thoroughly, people begin to be afraid. Judge Doczy, in
spite of the
evidence of his senses, still believes that some criminal agency is
behind the
phenomena, and has applied to the police. Police and doctors both
watch the
peasant-girl, but no physical explanation has been found of these
strange
happenings. But, after all,” concluded the Vagrant, “there is nothing
very novel in
them.”
“There was a
somewhat similar case not long ago in Bombay,” said a visitor,
“only there
was no one person as a centre for the disturbance. A friend of mine
took a house,
and soon found that stones were flung into the rooms until the
nuisance
became so great as to compel him to remove. All his family were
witnesses of
the facts.”
“There are
many records of such disturbances,” said the Vagrant. “‘Poltergeist’
is the name
given in Germany to the creatures who produce them. They are stupid
and annoying,
and for the most part irrational. Sometimes noises and movements
of objects
are accidently caused by persons still in the etheric double,
blundering
about in the immediate neighbourhood of their corpses. D'Assier's
book,
translated by the President-Founder, gives a number of these cases.”
“The Rev.
Stainton Moses,” remarked the Shepherd, “often found himself a centre
towards which
objects in the room would fly. In his case, as in many
spiritualistic
seances, nature-spirits and disembodied persons were the usual
agents.
Apports, as they are called, are one of the commonest phenomena at
seances, but
these are distinguished from the stone-throwing nuisance by having
a distinct
and rational motive.”
“Then, again,
objects may be deliberately moved by an exercise of super-normal
power,” said
the Vagrant. “HPB would use an elemental - a nature-spirit - to
bring her
something she wanted. I remember also seeing her basket containing
tobacco move
across the table to her - probably drawn by an extension of the
astral arm,
and one day she lighted a cigarette by raising it to the gas-light
out of
ordinary reach over her head.”
“Similarly”,
said the Shepherd, “the late Lord Lytton - the author of Zanoni,
not the
Viceroy - drew an envelope to his hand across the room. I was a very
small boy at
the time, and was under the table in the room where he was
sitting.”
“Any more
stories,” asked the Vagrant.
“Here are two
experiences,” put in the Magian, “from one who calls himself a
novice on the
Astral Plane. I will read them.”
I stood on
the pinnacle of an enormous mountain. At my feet and for a long
distance down
the almost perpendicular slope glittered the ‘eternal’ snow. Miles
and miles
below lay a fertile valley, with a river winding through it like a
silvery
serpent. The sun, near the horizon, bathed the fleecy clouds in the most
exquisite
colours. The glorious panorama and the pure atmosphere filled me with
a
hitherto-unknown sense of ecstatic well-being.
Suddenly, as
I saw my younger brother standing on my left and a stranger to my
right, the
snow gave way under our feet, and we were falling to what I felt was
certain
death. A sharp projecting rock stuck out of the snow, and instinctively
my hand shot
out and grasped it desperately, while I shouted to the others to
take hold of
my legs. A sharp pull on both legs told me that they had done so;
but to my
horror I felt like the rock give way slowly under our combined weight.
‘If I kick
myself free from the others, I may possibly be able to save myself,’
thought I,
‘and if I do not, we shall surely all perish. As far as my own life
is concerned
I do not much care, except that I am aspiring to become a disciple,
and wish to
make it useful in Their service. But even if I see no possible way
of escape for
my brother and the other fellow, this brief delay may enable them
to find
something to cling to; anyhow I cannot save myself at my brother's
expense, and
we will slide down together.’
These and
many other thoughts flashed through my mind in a few moments while I
felt the rock
slipping, and it certainly was a most terrible moral ordeal. At
last the rock
gave way entirely, and I felt myself and my brother sliding down
the glacier.
But the stranger had somehow got a secure hold on another
projecting
rock, and I as slid by him I caught hold of his leg. His rock held
securely, and
gradually, with the utmost caution, we all three managed to creep
back on to
the ridge and safety. The experience was very vividly impressed on my
physical
brain when I awoke.
“Here is the
second experience,” said the Magian and read.
It is one of
the peculiar characteristics of an ordinary dream, that the dreamer
(in the
absence of logical reasoning) accepts all sorts of incongruous
situations in
a matter of fact way. It was therefore a very delightful
experience
when one morning early I found myself wide awake on the astral plane
in full
every-day consciousness.
I was
travelling along a winding mountain road on a sort of tricycle-like
vehicle with
two companions. After wondering with logical sequence where I was
and how I got
there, I soon felt sure that I was away on the astral plane while
my body lay
in bed asleep; but it was hard to convince myself that the scenery
was not
physical because I could not notice any difference. The mountains,
trees,
flowers, rocks, etc., looked just as solid as they do on the physical
plane, and I
watched everything with the keenest attention.
At last we
stepped before a sort of farm-house or inn and went in. Some good
housewife was
baking cakes on a red-hot stove, and the appetising odour made me
feel hungry.
‘How ridiculous of me!’ thought I, ‘one does not eat cakes or
anything else
on the astral plane,’ and straightway I forgot the hunger, while a
new idea took
hold of me. ‘Fire does not burn an astral body,’ I reflected: ‘to
make
absolutely sure that my finger is not physical I shall stick it on the hot
stove.’ I did
so, but quickly drew it back to blow on it. The stove ‘felt’
decidedly
hot. Again I reflected: ‘It felt hot, but didn't really burn me. Now,
the ‘feeling’
must be all in my imagination, because that stove seems so
terribly
real, and it is hard to convince myself it isn't physical. Here goes
again!’ I put
my whole hand down on the stove, and the feeling of heat gradually
left me. Now
that I was convinced that I really was on the astral plane, I stuck
my hand
through the solid iron and down into the burning coals. Being satisfied
with this
experiment, I became very anxious to get ‘acclimatised,’ and make
myself fit to
be of some use as a helper. I therefore went out to a bluff some
distance from
the house and jumped off. I fell like a stone, bumped against some
trees, rolled
down an embankment, and landed all twisted up in the bottom of a
creek. I
picked myself up and noticed that I did not feel hurt in any way.
‘Another case
of imagination’, thought I; ‘I am so used to the law of
gravitation
that I could not convince myself that I wouldn't fall, and so I fell
in obedience
to a sub-conscious impulse. Now I shall climb on to that high
precipice on
the other wide of this creek and jump off again, and make up my
mind not to
fall.’ I did so, and floated down as gently as a feather this time,
although I
felt a little dizzy while in mid-air.
When I got
down, I decided to go back to the house through the solid rock
instead of
climbing the hill, but just then I felt myself slipping back into my
physical body,
and it was with the keenest regret that I found myself in bed and
my astral
experience at an end.
“This comes
from an Irish friend, who would like an explanatio?” said the Magian
and read:
I have
recently inherited the property on which this house is situated. Shortly
before the
death of my eldest brother from whom I inherited it, our steward was
walking down
our avenue when he met what appeared to him as a headless man
galloping on
a horse, with his (the man's) head under his left arm. The same
apparition
appears to have been seen by our shepherd shortly before the death of
my father. My
father died on September 12, 1873, in this house. My brother died
on May 18,
1901 in England and had not been here for nearly twenty years. My
eldest brother
succeeded my father in the property.
“Well, we
will talk about it next time,” said the Shepherd.
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (25)
first
published in the Theosophist, April, 1912, p120-124
“I have
received an interesting letter from New Zealand,” said the Vagrant, “it
tells about a
most unpleasant ghost, whose appearance was accompanied by very
violent
physical manifestations. The member who writes showed great courage
under trying
circumstances. Here is the letter:”
“The person
to whom the house belongs bought it some nine or ten years ago, and
very soon
after the family went to the house, they used to see some one pass a
certain
window, sometimes once or twice a month. They got so used to it that
they thought
nothing of it. This went on for years, and then, some nine months
ago, they
commenced to see this person coming every week, then every day, and
sometimes twice
a day, and it began to get on their nerves. The person who owns
the house has
a large family. She is rather psychic and can see many things, but
she is not
religious at all, though she has read some of Mr Leadbeater's books
that I have
lent her. She had told me when they first went to the house about
this person
passing the window; as I had not heard them speak of it lately I had
nearly
forgotten about it. She asked me what she could do to prevent its coming,
when it began
to come so often. I thought at first it might be some one she
knew, who
might want help. I told her to try to see who it was (the face had
always been
turned from the window), and to make the sign of the Cross, and if
she could not
find out, or did not know, who it was, to say: ‘Begone, in the
name of God.’
One of our Fellows had told me to do this, in the case of an evil
influence
coming near, and to make a mental picture of a golden disc with a blue
five-pointed
star in it, and to say the sacred word. I only told her to make the
Cross, and
did the other myself, when she asked me to do something. One day she
saw this
person coming fast, and as she looked, she also saw her little dog
coming up the
path. He saw the figure, and he cried and crawled along the
ground; the thing
threw up its hands, and threw them out as if throwing
something at
the dog; then the dog ran into a field, and was found dead there
the same day.
She saw the face when the thing threw up its hands, and it was a
terrible one,
she said. Again she woke one night, and saw the man in the room
bending over
her daughter (who slept in another bed in the same room), making a
drawing
motion with his hands, as if drawing the girl to him. The girl did not
wake, but
groaned in her sleep. The man was dressed in a long brown robe, with
something
white, falling from the neck to the feet. The mother was so frightened
for her
daughter, that she sat up in bed and made the sign of the Cross, and
said:
“Begone, in the name of God.” The man disappeared, and there seemed to be
a whirling in
the room, and a silver mounted bottle split with a noise. The next
day there
were dreadful thumps on the outer wall. So one thing and another kept
occurring,
but it always stopped for two or three days after I had said the word
there, and
then it commenced again. On one occasion she saw it outside very
plainly in
the afternoon, and she spoke to it, and asked it what it wanted and
it answered,
but not in a language she knew. She said the man looked like a
Hindu or
Malay. Whatever he said, it must have been evil, for presently he
pulled out a
curved knife and came at her; but she advanced on him, and he
disappeared.
She asked me if I could not do something to send it away. I did not
know of
anything, but I thought that I would try, and I went into the bed-room,
and folded my
hands, and centred myself in the heart, and said a mantra seven
times. As
soon as I began, something, some force, whirled round me, up and above
me; it seemed
at one time as if it would lift me off my feet, but I stood firm
till I ended
the mantra, and I kept my mind fixed. The lady was looking on all
the time, and
said she could see smoke or mist of a violet shade whirling round
me, very
quickly, and she said I seemed to be nearly lifted off my feet. We went
into the
kitchen, where something had been seen (every one in the family had
seen it, and
strangers had too). I did the same thing there, and the same thing
again
occurred. The next morning the parrot in the kitchen was found dead, and a
tree just
outside the bed-room window was broken right down to the ground. She
said she had
seen me come in the night; and that it was towards the window I
always
looked, and towards which I seemed to be drawn, though I did not move, of
course. She
said she often saw me at night, and when she did she was not
troubled by
anything, and had no bad dreams; and that when I came there was
always a
smell of incense, as there was the night I said the mantra. The same
night that I
said the mantra when I was going home, she came to her gate with
me, and as we
stood we saw a luminous figure coming towards us. I advanced to
meet it, and
I said the word and the mantra, and told it to be gone, and it
disappeared;
neither the family nor herself was troubled with it afterwards for
a month. But
last night, when I was at the house, some members of the family
said that
they could feel something just outside the front gate, as if something
was close to
them, but they saw nothing. So I said the mantra and word there,
and we saw
something like a wave undulating along the road, and a small black
object (which
had also been seen in the house before I said the mantra) in this
undulating
wave, going up the street very quickly.”
“A very
unpleasant ghost,” concluded the Vagrant. “A point of interest is the
suggestion of
the Malay appearance and the curved knife, indicating the low and
violent type
of the elementary.”
“Can such a
creature harm one?” asked a listener.
“Not unless
you become frightened,” answered the Vagrant. “Always remember that,
on the
physical plane, you are stronger than such an elementary, but you must
not play into
his hands by being afraid.”
“I remember,”
said the Vestal, “that two hands once seized me by the throat, and
I felt
frightened, but the creature let me go.”
“We have all
been frightened at times,” smiled the Vagrant, “but even so, we
must always
pull ourselves together, and face such an assailant, refusing to
give way, and
thinking firmly: ‘I am stronger than you; you cannot hurt me.’ And
if you can
manage to feel kind and compassionate, the unfortunate creature will
retire and
fade away.”
“Is incense
useful?” asked the Doctor.
“Yes,”
replied the Vagrant; “incense, five-pointed star, mantra, the sacred word
- all are
useful. But a brave heart and pure conscience are the best of all.
There are
evil forces in other worlds and in this, but nothing can injure the
pure and the
fearless.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (26)
first
published in the Theosophist, May, 1912, p281-285
“Our Vagrant
sends from London” said the Magian, “the following striking stor?”:
A remarkable
‘miracle of healing’ is chronicled in the Evening News of February
20, 1912.
Dorothy Kerrin, a girl of twenty-one years of age, living at 204
Milkwood
Road, Herne Hill, has been losing health since she was fourteen, and
has been
unable to stand upright for five years. At that time she went to a
consumptive
sanatorium near Reading, but was sent home, after nine months, no
better. She
had measles, and then gastric trouble, and was in S. Bartholemew's
hospital for
nine weeks. Later she was refused admission to a hospital at
Hampstead as
being two far gone in consumption, and went to a nursing home in S.
Leonards for
a short time. She then was an inmate in S. Peter's Home for
Incurables in
Kilburn, and was brought home in the ambulance two years ago, it
being thought
that she would not then live for a week. She grew worse, but did
not die, and,
at the beginning of February, 1912, she became blind and deaf.
Twenty-eight
doctors have seen her during the five years, so that her case can
be traced
without difficulty.
On Sunday
February 18, her eyesight and hearing suddenly returned, she got out
of bed,
declared herself to be free from pain, and during the following days she
walked about
the house, took food like other people, made her own bed, and
appeared to
be quite well. The girl's own account of this astonishing event is
as follows:
I saw a circle of fire, and it seemed to have
two hands. The two hands took
hold of my two hands. They were warm hands. I
heard a voice saying: “Dorothy,
your sufferings are over. Get up and walk?”
The two hands then made my hands touch my
eyes, and I found myself sitting up
in bed and able to see my mother and father
standing in the room.
To-day I feel quite well. I have no pain at
all. I feel as if I had never been
in bed at all - not even shaky.
The Evening
News next gives the evidence of the doctor who has attended the girl
during the
last two years; he has been in practice for twenty-five years. He is
an F.R.C.S.
of England. Along with this he has a number of other degrees. He is
a J.P. for
the county of London and holds a number of official appointments. In
attending her
he had found all the gravest symptoms of advanced tuberculosis, of
diabetes, and
other complications. She had been attended, under him, by Jubilee
nurses up to
the present, and a chart was kept of her temperature. This chart
shows that
her temperature rose and fell in the most alarming way - sometimes
reaching as
high as 105 degree. He cannot offer any explanation of the sudden
recovery.
Such is the remarkable story published all over England. The long
illness, the
observation of so many doctors, seem to take the case outside the
possibility
of deliberate fraud, such as has been found to exist in some
instances of
apparently sudden recovery from grave illness. One would like to
know if any
direct effort had been made to help Miss Kerrin by any body of
people
engaged in the endeavour to heal, or if any special prayer had been
offered for
her recovery, that might have drawn to her the attention of any
Invisible
Helper.
“Apropos of
healing” said the Magian “the Vagrant narrates another story. Here
it i?”:
In a letter
from an Australian correspondent, an interesting case of healing is
given; my
correspondent writes: “Just at the end of September I had a wire to go
to H. in the
Great Riverina district NSW, to a step-daughter dangerously ill;
when I
arrived the doctor said it was impossible for her to live two hours. But
I had been
healing a good many people before I left, and power was granted to me
so that she
lived. The Doctor and Matron said: ‘It is like a miracle’. I said:
‘Faith is
once more justified of her children; also the life of her child was
given to me
...’ The Hospital people soon got interested, then the Presbyterian
minister, and
the interest is still continuing.”
“The Vagrant
further remarks” added the Magian “that she met the other day, a
well-known
gentleman, who told her that he had healed cases of cancer and
paralysis, as
well as smaller ills. His method is an intense concentrated
prayer, and
the cure follows.”
“Here are
some other stories,” he continued, “forwarded by our good Shepherd. He
has the name
of the Doctor concerned, and the name of the country town, but has
not received
permission to publish the?”:
A Doctor in a
small country market town had a call in the early hours of the
morning to go
to a child at a farm two miles out; he, having an assistant living
with him,
asked the assistant to go. The latter called the groom up, got the
horse and
conveyance ready, and set off. It being a very foggy night they missed
the gate
turning into the field to the farm-house, and went along the road about
two miles
before they found out their mistake; they turned round, and eventually
arrived at
the farm to find that the child had been dead two hours, and that no
one was able
to throw any light upon the cause of death. The assistant returned
home. In the
morning when the assistant came down to breakfast, the Doctor was
having his,
and after saying: “Good morning,” the Doctor asked the assistant
what he had
been doing to miss his way to the farm. He said it was on account of
the dense
fog. The Doctor then said: “Why, the child had been dead two hours
when you got
there, and died through having a pea in the larynx.” The assistant
was rather
inclined to be angry with the Doctor and wanted to know how he had
come to know
what had happened. The Doctor, however, would not tell him, but
asked him
what his certificate was going to be; he replied he did not know, and
thought he must
have a post-mortem. The Doctor agreed that this was the best
course to
take, and said he would go with him to assist in the post-mortem. They
went, and
arranged that the assistant should make the examination and the Doctor
should take
the particulars down. The assistant pronounced all the organs
perfectly
healthy, although the Doctor suggested to him that the lungs were
congested.
The Doctor then said: “Well, you are no nearer your certificate. What
is it going
to be?” The assistant said that he could not tell. The Doctor said:
“Now, if you
won't cut into the larynx, I will.” The assistant did so, and there
was the pea.
This is a perfectly true story, and can be substantiated by the
Coroner, the
jurymen, the Doctor and the assistant. The pea was shown at the
inquiry.
This same
Doctor was staying all night at the Great Northern Station Hotel in
London, and
during his sleep saw every particular of an execution. When he went
into the
station in the morning, he was anxious to know if what he had seen in
his sleep had
actually occurred; so he went to the book-stall and asked for a
paper with an
account of the execution. The man at the stall told him that it
had not been
published, but, if he was anxious to know about it, there was
Marwood the
executioner on the platform with the black bag. The Doctor
approached
Marwood, and, after appologising, asked him if he had had an
execution
that morning, to which Marwood replied: “Yes.” He then told Marwood
all that had
happened at the execution. Marwood was staggered to tell how he
knew, and
passed the matter off by jokingly stating that the Doctor had a lovely
neck for a
rope.
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (27)
first
published in the Theosophist, Sept, 1912, p926-930
“It is
interesting,” writes the Vagrant, “to see how the expectation of the
coming of a
great Teacher is spreading in all directions; the last that has
reached me
comes from quite an unexpected quarter, a spiritualistic seance. I
suppress the
names - which are all given in the letter I am going to translate -
and send the
facts as they are therein related. The letter runs as follows:”
“A Mme. X.,
has been, during the last two years, a medium of a quite unusual
kind to a
spiritist group at M---. She had never meddled in any way with
Spiritualism,
and had been a thorough materialist for many years, when she
became suddenly
controlled by a spirit calling himself Motersadi. Impelled by
him, she went
to seek for the President of a spiritist group at M---. The spirit
thereupon
announced that the mediumship of Mme. X. had one quite definite
object, and
would only last for two years; it was caused in order to direct a
nucleus in
the group to prepare to serve a young Hindu, in whom would be
manifested
the coming incarnation of the Christ. At each bi-monthly seance
Motersadi
gave teachings entirely in accord with those of Theosophy, warned the
group as to
certain dangers connected with Spiritualism, and insisted that those
who felt
themselves ready to do so should leave Spiritualism and place
themselves
under the direction of Mrs Annie Besant. Mme. X. had never heard
either of Mrs
Besant or of Theosophy, and as soon as these names were uttered,
the President
grew hostile. The spirit thereupon said that the movement had
better be
made outside the spiritist group, and since last July those present
were adjured
to join the Order of the Star in the East.”
“Mme. X. was
made to speak in a language unknown to her; a figure appeared,
resembling a
sort of venerable priest living in Tibet; she prostrated before
him, uttering
some words which she felt to be a salutation of veneration. He
wore a
curious triangular cap, which, like his robe, was yellow, with violet
embroidery.
He spoke mentally to Mme. X. and she replied, still in the unknown
language,
concluding with an invocation, in which I [the writer] distinguished
the words:
Rama, Rama, Ramayana, Manu, and the name of Maitreya, repeated
several
times, a name quite unknown to Mme. X. She now, in her normal state,
sees at all
our meetings a brilliant yellow cloud which lights up the room, and
when the
lecture is being given, she sees a splendid Star, always above the head
of the
lecturer, shining with lustre and sending out dazzling rays when the
subject is
inspiring.”
“I know well
that we are helped; but I confess to feeling some fear as to these
manifestations,
which seem to favour astral influences which should be curbed
and guided.”
“Mme. X.
thought that, once she obeyed and had joined us, she would no longer be
compelled to
utter these invocations in a strange language, because, she said,
she felt that
it was not a normal development; that although she experienced a
quite
indescribable joy and felt lifted above herself, she also felt her mind
rebel against
these incomprehensible events, a void which alarmed her brain, and
made her fear
madness.”
“Have I done
well in advising her to cultivate her will-power, and to refuse to
be lifted
into this ecstasy - which comes upon her without her volition - more
than once
during the day, as she finds it impossible to prevent it altogether. I
have never
before seen any spiritist phenomena; I can shorten these
manifestations
by holding Mme. X.'s hand, and she then becomes quiet; ought I to
do this? I
also am strongly conscious of the presences she speaks of, and have
towards them
no other feeling than respect. I am afraid that these
manifestations
may cause trouble in our group, and I do not know what to do in
this
disorderly astral atmosphere of our town, in which we have just begun to
spread
Theosophical ideas.?”
“Both the
writer and the medium”, remarks the Vagrant, “are evidently people of
strong
intelligence and balance, and the writer's advice is sound. It is not
desirable to
lose self-control, and to be carried away into ecstasies without
one's own
consent, however enjoyable they may be. It is wiser to make one's
footing sure
in unknown regions, to advance slowly, and not to surrender oneself
helplessly
into unknown hands. If Mme. X. deliberately tried, in quiet
meditation,
to reach her Tibetan ‘priest’, she might enter into voluntary and
conscious
communication with him, without any surrender of self-control. Our
correspondent
gives another interesting incident, connected with the first
meeting of
the Order of the Star in the East; a gentleman came to it under the
following
circumstances:”
“In January,
1911, his son, a boy of twelve years of age, told him that he had
had a dream
that the Star in the East was founded, and would be heard of in the
town of M.---
in July or August, and that he should join it. He had seen in a
dream ‘a boy
much taller than I am’, whom he had known, as soldiers know their
general, for
many lives, whose follower he had always been, who taught him many
things, and
advised him to go to our [Theosophical] meetings. This young lad
gave so
striking a description of this being whom he said was his superior, that
I lately
asked him to tell me exactly where he was. He answered without
hesitation:
‘At this moment in England, but usually in Asia.’ I gave him the
March number
of The Theosophist, and told him to look at the pictures. He turned
over the
pages obediently and looked attentively at the pictures. Presently he
came to the
portrait of Alcyone, and cried out: ‘There is the beautiful boy I
saw in my
dream.’”
“What should
one do with this child? I objected to his coming to the O.S.E. and
T.S.
meetings, on the ground that he was too young. He answered: ‘Madame,
whatever you
decide will be right. But do you not think that it is a mistake to
judge a
person entirely by his age? Is it not by lives that we must go, and have
you not
noticed that there are some grown-up men who will be children to their
death, and
children who are men in reason and judgement?’ Such language is
astonishing
from a child whose mother-tongue is not French, and who lives amid
humble
surroundings, where he can have heard no such ideas. He is one of the
best students
in the first class of his communal school, and in the opinion of
all who know
him, is no ordinary child.”
“HPB told us
in The Secret Doctrine that more and more exceptional children
would be
born, as must indeed happen in a time of transition. What to do with
such
children? as our correspondent asks, for this particular little boy.
Ordinary
schools ruin their natural evolution. To offer to take charge of them,
even with the
consent of the parent, exposes the guardian - at any rate, in
India - to
constant suspicion and vilification, for he is always supposed to be
aiming at
some hidden gain for himself; the fact that people cannot discover the
non-existent secret
leaves the way open for every accusation that malice can
invent. Ought
one to let the nations lose the future services of such children,
leaving them
to be beaten into the conventional, or help them and bear the
mud-throwing
that such a course will involve??”
“A difficult
problem,” was the general opinion.
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (28)
first
published in the Theosophist, April, 1913, p109-114
“Here is a
question,” said the Vagrant, “which opens up a very interesting
subject. ‘Two
friends of mine came in contact with a young man from whom they
received much
valuable teaching on reincarnation, karma, and allied subjects,
teaching
which transformed their lives; it advocated great purity, love, and
sacrifice for
humanity. The teacher had various stupendous powers, could
materialise
and dematerialise objects, precipitate writings, and so on. His
teaching was
mostly given in trance. He was later found to be a man of immoral
life,
obtaining money on false pretences, drinking, and gambling. How could such
a life
consist with such powers?’” The Vagrant remarked: “It is not necessary
that a man
should be of noble character, in order to be able to do astral things
in the way
this man did. What are here called ‘stupendous powers’ are not what
the Occultist
would call stupendous. Many of the things mentioned could be done
through a
medium in the state of trance, and are constantly so done. Nor is it
at all
impossible that a man should have high aspirations, and yet be unable to
live up to
them. Here, we do not even seem to have the aspirations, for the man
was merely
spoken through when entranced, and such transmission of high
teachings is
no guarantee of nobility of life. If a man gave teaching coming
direct, say,
from the buddhic plane, then the question of the purity of his life
would
certainly come in; for he could not reach that plane unless pure; but not
so if he
simply repeated ordinary Theosophical teachings. Apart from this, a
certain
amount of astral force and the capacity to manipulate it is not at all a
proof of high
spirituality. Even when you are dealing with the stronger type of
the Black
People, you will find them of very rigid life, quite as rigid as the
White, partly
because great control of the body is necessary if they are going
to manipulate
some of the subtler forces.”
“The story,”
said the Shepherd, “reads exactly like a description of a
spiritualistic
séance. I have myself seen all these things done at séances, and
I have heard
the dead people talk in a most moral way, and propound all sorts of
good ideas.
If a man shows the possession of powers, that does not prove that he
is a good
man; one learns such things as one learns to play the piano. It does
not mean that
you are very noble; it is rather perhaps that you are persevering:
that is all.
If you endeavour to make progress on the Path of Holiness, then at
once the
question of your character comes in; but you must remember that all
these powers
come to a man on that Path of Holiness without special seeking -
come much
later. The possession of such powers does not prove anything whatever
as to the
presence of moral character; but the idea that they do has arisen from
this other
fact, that if you pursue the Path of Holiness they come to you
because you
have developed the whole nature; but it is possible to learn
particular
tricks without any particular character. It requires merely a strong
will, which
is not incompatible with a bad character.”
“I do not see
that any of these things prove holiness at all,” said the Vagrant.
“In fact,
they have nothing at all to do with it; a good electrician or a good
chemist may
not be a good man.”
“Just so,”
answered the Shepherd. “You should all try to understand the way in
which
knowledge is obtained and brought down to the brain, and then you will see
where right
conduct comes in. To use any faculties which involve the causal
body, the man
must not yield himself to the lower passions and to emotions that
are generally
condemned. It must also be remembered that however magnificent a
man's
faculties may be at higher levels or in the causal body, if what he sees
is to be of
any use to any one else on the physical plane, it will have to come
down through,
and be reported by, the physical brain. In order to do that it
must
obviously pass through first the mental body and then the astral body. All
these bodies
are capable of violent disturbance - of exceedingly rapid
vibration.
Disturbed thought or worry will utterly upset the mental body; and in
just the same
way, any kind of violent emotion will cause profound disturbance
in the astral
vehicle. If the mind is disturbed, it is impossible to think
clearly or
consecutively, so that even the mental body itself cannot be properly
used to do
its own regular work, when it is already in a condition of excitement
and
confusion. Far less can it receive and faithfully transmit the exceedingly
delicate
vibrations which come down to it from the causal body. What is seen in
the causal
body is seen under conditions utterly, fundamentally, different from
anything that
we can conceive down here - in more dimensions; so that it is of
itself, in
reality, indescribable, and it is exceedingly difficult even under
the best of
conditions to make a coherent and comprehensible report down here of
what is seen
in that higher world. Therefore it will be easily understood that
in order to
bring through a clear and reliable record, the very best possible
conditions
must be provided, and that means that both the mental and the astral
bodies must
be absolutely still, so far as all their ordinary activities are
concerned.
Even the excitement occasioned by good emotions of wonder or
reverence
also causes the bodies to oscillate disproportionately, and thus
prevents a
clear recognition and record of facts. Absolutely still the particles
of these
higher vehicles can never be, because they are alive and very keenly
and actively
alive; therefore they have a regular vibration of their own which
cannot be
stilled without destroying them; but under all normal conditions, to
that inherent
vibration of the separate particles we add huge swinging
vibrations
caused by our thought or feeling respectively, so that the vehicles
are in a
condition of great activity. It is that activity which must be stilled.
Be it
remembered also that these vehicles are like the ocean, in that after
being stirred
up by a violent storm it takes them a considerable time to settle
down again -
a very much longer time than would ordinarily be supposed. A man
may fall into
a violent passion, which means a very terrible disturbance of his
astral body.
For the time, even his physical body is much disturbed; but the
signs of his
outburst of temper may all pass away in the course of an hour or
so, and he
may externally regain his good humour; but it would be a mistake to
think that
his astral body had returned to the condition in which it was before
that spasm of
rage. It may very well be quite twenty-four hours, or even more,
before that
body is comparatively still, and during all that time it would
distort very
seriously any impressions which passed through it. So it will be
seen that one
who wishes to describe accurately anything that he has seen on
higher planes
must not only be in a peaceful condition as regards both his mind
and his
emotions at the time when he tries to see, but he must also have
maintained
that peaceful condition for a considerable time previously. In fact,
in order to
have any degree of certainty, he must be a person who is incapable
of any
serious upsetting of either of these intermediate vehicles. The same
thing applies
to the physical body also. If through ill-health, either the dense
physical body
or the etheric part of it is out of order, there will be a
certainty of
distortion for that reason. If the circulation of the blood be
defective, if
there be in the brain too much or too little of that fluid, or if
on the other
hand there be a lack of vitality, or if the flow of magnetism along
the nerves be
not regular or sufficient, the physical body will act as a
barrier, even
though the necessary vibrations may have passed safely through the
mental and
the astral. So we see that not only perfect physical, but perfect
astral and
mental health is necessary for clear seeing, and most especially the
greatest
calmness on all planes, the most balanced judgment and the most fully
developed
common-sense.”
“These
remarks,” interjected the Vagrant, “apply also in a way to the case of
ordinary
science - drunkenness, and profligacy, carried to a point which injures
the senses of
a man, would interfere with his work; for instance, if his hand
shakes while
making an experiment, or his eye does not see clearly.”
“Yes,”
replied the Shepherd, “it would interfere not because of a man's vices
but because
of their results.”
“This man
gives all his addresses in trance,” proceeded the Vagrant, “and you
often get
such teachings in spiritualistic séances. Such addresses are often
good and
well-meant, though the person through whom they come may be a very
undesirable
person. You may find a medium drinking, and there at once is a vice
which is very
injurious, and yet that would not, for a time at least, prevent
very good
teaching from coming through him.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (29)
first
published in the Theosophist, May, 1913, p277-280
“I do not
quite understand repercussion,” said a student. “Does it really
occur?”
“Oh yes,”
replied the Vagrant. “It occurred to me once in my early days, when in
an astral
adventure I saw a mast about to fall on me; I thought to myself: ‘That
will come
right across me.’ The next moment I remembered that it would not hurt
me if it did;
but the result of that momentary thought was a repercussion. The
next morning
I had a great blue bruise on my leg when I awoke. The vibration in
the astral
body causes a similar vibration in the physical body. Hence the
bruise.”
“Would the
stigmata of the Christian Saints,” asked a gentle voice from the
back, “be an
instance of repercussion?”
“Yes.
Stigmata are not of very rare occurrence. I have seen accounts of two such
cases in my
own lifetime, one of a girl in a convent in Belgium; and it happens
generally to
monks or nuns. They meditate, kneeling, with their eyes fixed on a
crucifix
above their heads. These are just the conditions for producing the
hypnotic
trance, especially if the eyes were looking upwards with the axes
slightly
crossed (strabismus). Now supposing the monk or the nun goes into a
trance in
this way, he has the idea of the Christ upon the Cross strongly fixed
upon the
brain. The result of this very strong suggestion is the production of
the wounds in
the person himself. It is quite a simple thing, and corresponds in
every point
with the way in which wounds have been produced by hypnotic
suggestion at
the great hospital of the Salpêtrière in Paris. By hypnotism,
burns have
been often produced. Reading over, as we may do now, a number of the
trials in the
Middle Ages for witchcraft, it is quite clear that under a great
amount of
superstition and exaggeration and carelessness, there is a substratum
of fact. The
evidence is often very clear and there is no reason to disbelieve
it.”
“What of the
fixing of the eyes on the point of the nose in meditation?”
“It is one of
the artificial ways of quieting the body and dulling it down to a
point where
it will not interfere with thought. One of the unsatisfactory things
is that a
person who induces trance in this way does not bring back a memory of
what he has
done or learned, when he returns to his body. The results reached in
this way are
very poor.”
“It is a sort
of back-door way,” chimed in the Shepherd, “of gaining what ought
to be obtained
by an exercise of the will,”
“A person who
is hypnotised or in a trance state,” continued the Vagrant, “has
his
circulation and breathing very much slackened. If you touch a person who is
asleep, you
will wake him, while in the trance state you may fire a pistol near
his ear and
not wake him. In the one case the physical body is vitalised and
healthy, in
the other devitalised. A man in such a condition would probably in
his astral
body be in the same state as in ordinary sleep.”
“A man in
trance,” remarked the Shepherd, “sometimes takes up the etheric double
with him and
then he gets very much confused.”
“Yes. Of
course a man who knows how to throw himself into trance by an effort of
the will is
in quite a different condition. I was thinking more of trance
produced
mechanically. If you once take out part of the etheric double, you are
in a terrible
muddle. You may be as conscious as you like, but you are in a fog.
I experienced
that only once, under the influence of laughing-gas, when a tooth
was taken
out, and I will never do it again. The gas drives out the etheric
double,
producing trance in that way. In the case of anaesthetics the etheric
double is
driven out, and you float about in it. In my case, I dimly saw my body
on the chair
and the dentist, but as if I were looking through a dense fog. The
fog was my
own etheric double. It was a very disagreeable experience, and having
dislocated
myself in this way, I could not get right for days. I went in and out
of my body repeatedly
to try to fit myself in. You may remember (turning to the
Shepherd)
that I asked you what on earth was the matter with me. A really good
materialising
medium in trance loses a quantity of not only the etheric but also
of the
gaseous, liquid and even solid matter of his body. You see his head quite
sinking into
his collar. Madame d'Esperance's body used to disappear for a time,
it was said.”
“Miss
Arundale saw a great deal of this kind of thing at séances at one time,”
went on the
Vagrant, “and she told me that when Eglinton came to her mother's
house once to
give a séance, a full-sized materialised form came out into the
room,
carrying Eglinton in its arms. Eglinton himself had dwindled to the size
of a child.
The materialised form was that of the big Arab, Abdullah. She told
me this, and
I think she was an accurate observer.”
Said the
Shepherd: “I saw Abdullah and Ernest and a third form, a child, all
materialised
at one time from Eglinton. Abdullah and Ernest were carrying him
between them,
and the child was dancing about in front of them. The medium
looked very
shrivelled, but not like a child. When he came back he was in a bad
condition,
very much exhausted.”
“I was once
asked to go to a séance when I was in Melbourne,” said the Vagrant.
“Three forms
came out of the cabinet and walked about amongst us. One of them
dematerialised
while we were looking at it. It grew smaller and smaller until it
was a mere
bit of cloud near the floor, and then disappeared. The medium was in
a very bad
condition afterwards, and was cold as a corpse. I mesmerised her very
powerfully,
and it took me nearly ten minutes to bring her back. The séance was
a very
satisfactory one, in the sense that we had light in the room, day-light
through red
windows.”
“If other
entities can take possession of a body during trance,” came an alarmed
voice,
“cannot they do so also during sleep?”
“There have
been cases of change of personality in which a body has been taken
possession of
by another entity during sleep; but it is very unlikely to happen
to the normal
person. It is more often in cases of serious accident, or of a
fit, that a
change of personality takes place. Of course most people, when they
have learned
to leave the body consciously, leave a shell around it. The body
has a certain
consciousness of its own, and calls the owner back if it is
alarmed. You
know how the body shows signs of alarm quite independently of you,
as for
example, the closing of the eyes involuntarily if an object suddenly
comes near.
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (30)
first
published in the Theosophist, Oct, 1929, p77-78
[The
“-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight” series appeared during 1898 in The Theosophical Review
and from
1909-1913 in The Theosophist. The following note was added when the
series began:
‘The stories given in these monthly records will be authentic,
unless the
contrary to be definitely stated in any particular case, that is:
they will be
real experiences.’ - AB {Some more of these stories were found; the
one which we
give (below) seemed rather suitable for this number of the
magazine. -
Asst. Ed.}]
“The
following is not quite clairvoyance,” said Germania, “but it is a little
allied
thereto.” In 1902 I happened to be in Leipzig when Colonel Olcott was
expected
there, and the members of the local T.S. Lodge asked me to act as their
interpreter
as most of them did not know English. So it came to pass that during
three days I
had the good fortune of seeing much of our President-Founder and of
enjoying his
company in quite an intimate manner. One morning we were sitting
together in
his room in the Kaiserhof. The expected callers had not yet turned
up and we
were alone. He was smoking and showing me some photographs of his
beloved
Adyar. Every word he said about his ‘Indian Home’ proved how fond he was
of the place.
Indeed there was a ring in his voice when speaking of the
Headquarters,
of the River-Bungalow and of the little flower garden in front of
it where
there grew roses, fairer than which there were none. I thought by
myself: ‘Well
the roses in Adyar may be very fine, but that's no reason why
those which
were presented to the Colonel last night should go without any
water. There
they are a-dying.’ I only thought it. Instantly the Colonel rose:
‘Let us put
these roses into water,’ he said. But even while engaged in doing
this he did
not cease speaking of the beauties of Adyar, telling me how glorious
it was when
the sun set behind the bridge and the sky seemed aflame and how one
had the
impression of the whole place being alive with fairies when, during cool
summer-nights,
the moonshine was dancing on the river. Suddenly he stopped
talking and
looked round like some one who has heard himself called by name. He
made a few
steps towards the middle of the room and remained standing there
looking
straight before him, evidently intent on listening. I followed him a
step or two
and then stopped spell-bound. A sort of semi-unconsciousness took
hold of me
and I could no more move or speak. It was a queer but not a
disagreeable
feeling and I knew Colonel Olcott's Master was there, speaking to
him and He it
was who threw this glamour over me. After a few seconds the
Colonel
turned round again and continued speaking to me as if nothing happened,
and I did the
same.”
The following
is an extract from a letter written by a F.T.S., a professor in a
college in
Bagdad, who sent another story as well. No date is given.
“A rumor is
current among the Jews, but which he has been unable to trace, that
a few months
ago a Jewish baby, only ten days old, spoke articulately, saying
that the
Messiah was born.” She [The Vagrant] remarks that however unauthentic
the story,
its currency is of interest as adding to the growing expectation of
the coming of
a World-Teacher.
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (31)
first
published in the Theosophist, Nov, 1929, p207-213
“Here is a
remarkable story,” said the Vagrant, “which is sent by a reliable
person. I
will read it just as it was sent. The scene is Florence.” The writer
says:
I have a
friend, an English lady, Mrs K., who some years ago rented a palace in
the Via Dei.
When she lived there she became more and more convinced that
conditions
were unusual, and she felt as though she were not alone even when
apparently in
solitude. This aroused her interest and she resolved on
investigation
aided by a Russian prince N. and Mr H., an English gentleman.
These two and
Mrs K. decided, that they knew of no better means than to sit at a
table, the
usual manner of spiritualists, although they were not spiritualists;
they followed
the alphabetical code. Every word was spelled out gradually and
registered as
it was spelled. The table began to move and to spell, and when
they asked
the name of the person that had communicated with them, the answer
was given:
“R.L.” This did not mean anything to them at first till this person
explained
that she was an Englishwoman, living in a little village near Mrs K.'s
home in
England.
R.L. had met
with an accident; she had been thrown from a carriage and rendered
unconscious.
She had remained unconscious for some time and when she recovered
sufficiently
she asked the doctor to send at once for Mrs K. ... Mrs K. was a
stranger to
her, but at her request she went at once to see her, and then R.L.
said to her,
that after her accident when she didn't know what had happened to
her, she
found herself in a new country which was quite different from England,
flowers and
trees and everything making her feel that she was in a different
place. While
there, she said, she saw Mrs K.'s father who had recently passed
away, and he
beckoned to her and told her when she returned she was to tell his
daughter,
that she need not expect him to go back to her, to reach her, but that
she would
certainly meet him again. This was all told by R.L. at the time they
first opened
communications, and reminded Mrs K. about herself. Mrs K. next
asked whether
R.L. could explain anything about the conditions of that house,
had it any
history?
R.L. replied:
“I am quite unable to tell you about the murder, but the Cardinal
has been
trying for a long time to reach you, and obtain your help on behalf of
the murderer
whose soul is still on earth - bound and in great trouble.” After
this, the
table began quite a different movement. Before any words were spelt,
it tilted
cross-wise and then began to spell in Italian. They found that the
words were
mediaeval Italian, rather differently spelled, and the Cardinal in
Italian
expressed his thankfulness that finally he had reached them. Then he
told them
that a murder had been committed in one of the rooms; that it had been
committed by
a man who had confessed it to him under seal of confession. This
had been his
godson, bound by certain ties to the Cardinal, who was therefore
very
earnestly desirous of releasing him from his earthbound condition. They
asked him
what he desired them to do and he said that he wished the bones of the
murdered man
which were concealed under the pavement of the hall to be taken and
given
Christian burial. They asked him: “Is he buried here?” the Cardinal said:
“Not buried,
only hidden, he received no Christian burial,” he laying
considerable
stress on that point. They began to carry out his wish by having
the pavement
lifted but they found that the owner objected, utterly refusing to
allow any
stone to be touched. He considered the house was too old and he also
remained very
sceptical as to the story. Although Mrs K. volunteered to defray
the expenses
and have everything carefully replaced, it was in vain.
Then the
Cardinal became very urgent, and perhaps thinking that they needed to
be further persuaded
of the truth of what he described, he gave them particulars
about his
life history and his family. He explained that his mother belonged to
the family of
the Rinaldini. He had been educated in a convent - I think it was
near Bologna
or Verona, I am not sure. He said he had been appointed twice
Cardinal-Archbishop
of Florence, and this impressed my friends because that was
a life
office. The Cardinal explained that through the machinations of his
enemies and
their intrigues he had been deposed from his office and had been
banished for
ten years which he spent chiefly in a monastery near Rome. Then he
was restored
to power. He always refused to give the name of the murderer as he
was bound by
the seal of confession not to betray any secrets of his penitent.
So they only
inferred from investigation that the place must have belonged to
the family
named Larioni which they imagined then was the murderer's name. The
Cardinal
speaking further about himself, told them to go to a certain palace in
Florence and
they would find his portrait, which they did. He told them that the
murdered
youth belonged to the Bardi family and had occupied the position of
page in the
family, and he said: “Go to the cemetery of San Miniato,” well-known
in Florence,
and you will find the resting place of the Bardi family where these
bones should
be buried. The Prince went and was very quickly taken to that
portion of
the cemetry where he saw the monuments of the Bardi family.
The Cardinal
continued to urge and almost insisted upon their carrying out this
plan of
removing the bones, and at last said: “I will show you through the
prince how
the crime was committed.” So they arranged that they should dine
together the
next evening. After dinner they agreed to watch in the hall to see
what might
happen. The prince was late in reaching the house and they noticed
that he
looked very tired and disturbed and seemed quite unlike his usual self.
They
questioned him, and he said that he had had a very perplexing experience,
he considered
it very uncomfortable. He said that when he went out in the
streets of
Florence and was strolling about as usual, going in and out of the
shops, he was
apparently followed by a monk who kept his cowl over his head and
concealed the
lower part of his face. The prince didn't know what to think of
it, and began
to feel very tired. He met a friend while he was shopping (he was
very fond of
going into old curiosity shops) and asked him if he noticed the
monk who was
following him. His friend said that he saw no monk. After dinner
that evening
the prince seemed so depressed and tired that they said to him that
they would
sit and watch and he might rest, and they sat on a carved settle in
the hall.
Almost immediately the prince fell into a very profound sleep. This
was what
happened: he rose from his sleep with his eyes closed, walked straight
to the part
of the hall which now shows only a blank wall. He made the movement
of opening a
door and they saw him listening; he advanced and seemed to greet
some one.
They saw his bow. He then moved again to another part of the hall,
drew two
chairs together, bowed and motioned someone to sit down. He then sat
down himself
and appeared to listen intently. In a few minutes he rose and knelt
in front of
the chair with his head bent; he got up and stood in such a position
that it
looked as though someone was holding his arm. He then moved as if he was
accompanying
someone to the end of the hall. In a few minutes they saw him start
as if
watching something; he seemed to struggle to free his arm and he finally
rushed
forward and bent over something on the floor, and they saw that he was
very much
agitated and startled, the tears running down his cheeks. In a few
minutes he
staggered again to his feet and moved towards his original seat
beside them,
with his eyes still closed. They shook him, rousing him from his
trance and
asked him to describe what had happened. He could hardly bear to
speak of it
at first and exclaimed that it was very hard that he should have to
see such a
horrible sight when he could do nothing to help. He said that the
whole
appearance of the hall was altered. He saw a door in a place where no door
could be
seen; afterwards they tapped the walls and found a door that had been
walled up. He
said something impelled him to go to that door and open it and
wait for
someone to enter, when he stood there a monk entered and looking in his
face he
recognized the monk he had seen in the afternoon - the same piercing
eyes - and
recognized the resemblance to the portrait of the Cardinal. This monk
said to him:
I am the Cardinal. I was gathering sufficient etheric matter from
you to
materialize, to show myself to you this evening. I kept my mouth covered
for I could not
complete materialization then. And now, my son, sit beside me
and have no
fear, but watch attentively all that is to happen. I am here to
right a wrong
and to have justice done. With difficulty I have achieved this
purpose. Now
kneel and receive my blessing.
The prince
was a Greek Catholic and a very devout Catholic, very much attached
to his
beliefs. After receiving the blessing, he stood up, the Cardinal laying
one hand on
his arm, and the prince said that he was impressed by the strong
will that
seemed to reach him from the Cardinal. The Cardinal led him to the end
of the room
and said: “Now stand still and watch, have no fear.” In a few
moments the
prince said he saw the form of a woman dressed in white, who was
young and had
dark hair, pass rapidly through the hall and leave it by the other
door, as if
afraid of being seen and followed. She was quickly followed by a
young man who
seemed, the prince said, perhaps twenty years old; he saw him
distinctly and
could describe his appearance. He was tall, had a very pleasant
face and
light brown, slightly curly hair which was hanging on his neck. As the
young man
passed through the hall near the tapestry on one side of the wall, an
arm shot out
and stabbed him, so that he was suddenly flung forward on his face
and his body
was nearly doubled by the force of the blow. The prince said that
was when he
tried to struggle and free himself, to protect this youth. When he
reached him
and bent over him, he found that he was dead and said that he
suffered
keenly that moment. After that, all that he knew was that there seemed
to one or two
misty forms in the hall but he could distinguish nothing more, and
the next
thing was that he recovered his consciousness, sitting beside us.
Of course my
friend felt more than ever anxious to carry out the Cardinal's
wish, but as
it was impossible they asked him what they could do instead; he
said that
they must find a priest and cause him to read the burial service and
asperge the
scene of the murder. They had some difficulty in persuading a priest
to do so. I
think it was the prince, or it may have been Mr H. who at last
persuaded a
priest to come and be present at some séance which they held, during
which the
Cardinal addressed them. The priest summoned up courage at last to ask
a question
himself and he begged the Cardinal - his superior in the Church - to
tell him
whether it was really permissible for him to hold this service. I was
present at
some of those séances and I heard the priest speak at last as if he
felt himself
in the presence of a Prince of the Church, the Cardinal giving
peremptory
command to the priest to obey. I saw the little priest join his hands
together as
they do when speaking to their superiors, saying: Ma signor
cardinale
devo propria fare questa cosa, m'e permesso di fare cosi? “But my Lord
Cardinal,
should I really do this thing? Am I permitted to act thus?” the
Cardinal
simply answered that in the cause of religion and to aid this murderer
the service
should be held. So one day the priest arrived with his vestments,
bringing his
holy water and his brush to asperge with, and the service was held;
he asperged
the room and he asperged every one present, Mrs K., the Prince, Mr
H., Mrs C.
and myself. It was very impressive. We went back to the other room
and four of
us sat at the table, the prince, Mr H., and Mrs K. were the other
three. We sat
at the same little table and it began to move very slowly, and at
first
hesitatingly and in an odd way it spelled: “I am grateful, thank you” - in
Italian of
course. Then there was a pause and it began to tilt in the way the
Cardinal used
to do, always tilting in the sign of the Cross. The Cardinal
spelled:
“Yes, that unhappy man has been present and he thanks you. You have
done what you
can and I thank you also.”
With that the
story ends. My friend who continued to live in the palace felt a
very
different atmosphere after that, and the Cardinal did not call upon her to
do anything
else. Mr H. took notes during the experience which lasted several
months. He
had been a sceptic and was convinced now.
“It would
have been more complete,” remarked the Vagrant, “if they had been
allowed to
dig for the bones.”
END
-------Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
In the Twilight (32)
first
published in the Theosophist, Dec, 1929, p345-347
“Our dear
Vagrant does not forget us while she is away,” said the Magician, “she
sends the
following extract from a letter written by a F.T.S., a professor in a
college in
Bagda?”:
There is a
poor Chaldian Christian (Catholic) family here. The father of the
family died
suddenly leaving several small children and a penniless widow. There
was nothing
to eat in the house, and they wept and prayed, and went to bed
hungry. The
mother says she was sure that there was not a single copper in the
house. In the
morning when she got up, she found a karan (about 4 pence English
money) in her
pocket. Could she have overlooked that the night before? Well she
bought bread
and that day passed. Next day there were two karans in her pocket
in the
morning. The money went on doubling till it came to a megiedi (about a
dollar in
American money). From that day she found every day a megiedi to meet
her expenses.
She did not know whence it came. There was of course no
possibility
of any one putting the money in her pocket. For two years the thing
went on. One
day she spoke of this to a friend of hers. From that day the
money-coming
stopped abruptly, and was never repeated again. This woman is now a
midwife and
one of her sons a clerk in a merchant's firm. This incident occurred
about fifteen
years ago. It was related to me by the people themselves and I
give it as it
was told to me.
The Vagrant
adds that it may be one of the cases in which the family had a
kârmic right
to relief, and no physical friend being available, it became
necessary to
supply what was needed by the direct interposition of a lower Deva,
or
nature-spirit.
One of the
circle gave the following interesting account of a personal
experience:
My mother had
to undergo a serious operation, but she had a great dislike to
take
chloroform, so my father interviewed the specialist at the Nursing Home to
ask him not
to use chloroform as my mother had such a dread of it. He
indignantly
refused to accede the request, saying that the case must be left in
his hands,
and that he knew what was best. So my mother resigned herself to take
it. The night
before the operation i had a dream, in which I saw with perfect
clearness the
Master KH standing over my mother, who was lying at full length.
His hands
were held over her, and gave me the impression of sending forth force,
and I felt
the conviction that no chloroform would be used. Next morning came a
telegram,
that the operation would take place at midday and that chloroform
would be
used. I had just time to catch the train (there was one hour's journey
by train) and
I jumped into it just as it was starting, I met my father in time,
and we
immediately went to the nursing Home. There we found my mother and waited
with her in
her room, and she told me that she knew I would come, and that she
had seen the
Master KH while in a semi-conscious state. During the quarter of an
hour's wait
my father, my husband, the nurse (who was a member TS), and myself
sat in
concentration on the Master. My mother sank in a deep sleep, from which
she awoke
when the doctor fetched her. There was a feeling of perfect calm in
the room.
Again my husband asked that chloroform should not be used, and the
request was
again refused, and we saw my mother led out into the operation room.
The end of
the story came from the nurse. She told that the doctor had the cap
in his hand,
ready to give it to the nurse to administer the chloroform, when he
suddenly
stopped as if arrested, put it down and said: “No, without chloroform.”
Two dexterous
cuts and the operation was over, almost before my mother was aware
of it, she
felt no pain, and in half an hour she was back in her room.
“An
experience I recall just now,” said a member, “was not a dream, but a
result, in
some way of concentration.”
My father was
very ill, and asked that his body might be burned after he died.
That was
impossible to do because the law of the country forbade it for
Europeans. So
we could not do as he wished. But after he died we used instead of
a Christian
prayer a part of the Shrâddha of the Hindûs, for my father was in
his thoughts
and feelings quite Eastern. I chose some of the household who were
a little
stronger in concentration than the others; we numbered 7 members of the
T.S. We
concentrated on the idea that he might be free from his body, as he
would have
been by burning, and meditated on the mantram, Rgveda X, XIV: 9.
After an
interval of half an hour we took another mantram and concentrated on it
- Rgveda X,
XIV: 7. The whole thing was done in the room in which he died. The
next day I
received a letter from a lady friend who lived in an other town. She
wrote me that
she knew my father had died that night, she was in thoughts with
us all the
time. She saw a very strange thing, which she could not understand
and asked me
the meaning of it. She saw the whole room from floor to ceiling in
flames. She
asked me: “have you disinfected the room with some liquid that would
burn? I think
that the flames she saw in the room during her meditation came
from our
concentration on the mantram of burning. Is that possible?”
“Certainly,”
wrote the Vagrant on hearing the above, “your thought would be
about flames
and the thought forms of flames created by you would be visible to
a sensitive.”
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In the Twilight”
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