Letters from a Living Dead Man

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Contents

VAGB

XXV. A Shadowless Woru> 104

XXVII. The Magic Ring 115

Introduction

ONE night last year in Paris I was strongly impelled to take up a pencil and write, though what I was to write about I had no idea. Yielding to the impulse, my hand was seized as if from the outside, and a remarkable message of a personal nature came, followed by the signature

The purport of the message was clear, but the signature puzzled me.

The following day I showed this writing to a friend, asking her if she had any idea who "X" was.

"Why," she replied, "don't you know that that is what we always call Mr. ?"

I did not know.

Now, Mr. was six thousand miles from

Paris, and, as we supposed, in the land of the living. But a day or two later a letter came to me

from America, stating that Mr. had died in

the western part of the United States, a few days before I received in Paris the automatic message signed "X."

So far as I know, I was the first person in Europe to be informed of his death, and I immediately called on my friend to tell her that "X" had passed out. She did not seem surprised, and told me that she had felt certain of it some days before, when I had shown her the "X" letter, though she had not said so at the time.

Naturally I was impressed by this extraordinary incident.

"X" was not a spiritualist. I am not myself, and never have been, a spiritualist, and, so far as I can remember, only two other supposedly disembodied entities had ever before written automatically through my hand. This had happened when I was in the presence of a mediumistic person; but the messages were brief, and I had not attached any great importance to the phenomena.

In childhood I had several times put my hand upon a planchette with the hand of another person, and the planchette had written the usual trivialities. On one occasion, some months before the first "X" letter, I had put my hand upon a planchette with the hand of a non-professional medium, and the prophecy of a fire in my house during a certain month in the following year was written, supposedly by a dead friend, which prophecy was literally verified, though the fire

INTRODUCTION 7

was not caused by my hand, nor was it in my own apartment.

A few times, years before, I had been persuaded by friends to go with them to professional seances, and had seen so-called materialisations. I had also seen independently a few appearances which I could not account for on any other hypothesis than that of apparitions of the dead.

But to the whole subject of communication between the two worlds I felt an unusual degree of indifference. Spiritualism had always left me quite cold, and I had not even read the ordinary standard works on the subject.

Nevertheless, I had for a number of years almost daily seen "hypnagogic visions," often of a startlingly prophetic character; and the explanation of them later given by **X" may be the true explanation.

Soon after my receipt of the letter from America stating that Mr. was dead, I was sitting

in the evening with the friend who had told me who **X" was, and she asked me if I would not let him write again — if he could.

I consented, more to please my friend than from any personal interest, and the message beginning, ''I am here, make no mistake," came through my hand. It came with breaks and pauses between the sentences, with large and badly formed letters, but quite automatically, as in the first instance. The force used on this occasion was such that my right hand and arm were lame the following day.

Several letters signed "X" were automatically written during the next few weeks; but, instead of becoming enthusiastic, I developed a strong disinclination for this manner of writing, and was only persuaded to continue it through the arguments of my friend that if "X" really wished to communicate with the world, I was highly privileged in being able to help him.

"X" was not an ordinary person. He was a well-known lawyer nearly seventy years of age, a profound student of philosophy, a writer of books, a man whose pure ideals and enthusiasms were an inspiration to everyone who knew him. His home was far from mine, and I had seen him only at long intervals. So far as I remember, we had never discussed the question of postmortem consciousness.

Gradually, as I conquered my strong prejudice against automatic writing, I became interested in the things which "X" told me about the life beyond the grave. I had read practically nothing on the subject, not even the popular Letters from Julia, so I had no preconceived ideas.

INTRODUCTION 9

The messages continued to come. After a while there was no more lameness of the hand and arm, and the form of the writing became less irregular, though it was never very legible.

For a time the letters were written in the presence of my friend; then "X" began to come always when I was alone. He wrote either in Paris or in London, as I went back and forth between those two cities. Sometimes he would come several times a week; again, nearly a month would elapse without my feeling his presence. I never called him, nor did I think much about him between his visits. During most of the time my pen and my thoughts were occupied with other matters.

Only in one instance before the writing began had I any idea as to what the letter would contain. One night as I took up the pencil I knew what "X" was going to write about ; but, though I remember the incident, I have forgotten to which message it referred.

While writing these letters I was generally in a state of semi-consciousness, so that, until I read the message over afterwards, I had only a vague idea of what it contained. In a few instances I was so near unconsciousness that as I laid down

:iO LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

the pencil I had not the remotest idea of what I had written; but this did not often happen.

When it was first suggested that these letters should be published with an introduction by me, I did not take very enthusiastically to the idea. Being the author of several books, more or less well known, I had my little vanity as to the stability of my literary reputation. I did not wish to be known as an eccentric, a "freak." But I consented to write an introduction stating that the letters were automatically written in my presence, which would have been the truth, though not all the truth. This satisfied my friend; but as time went on, it did not satisfy me. It seemed not quite sincere.

I argued the matter out with myself. If, I said, I publish these letters without a personal introduction, they will be taken for a work of fiction, of imagination, and the remarkable statements they contain will thus lose all their force as convincing arguments for the truth of a hereafter. If I write an introduction stating that they came by supposedly automatic writing in my presence, the question will naturally arise as to whose hand they came through, and I shall be forced to evasion. But if I frankly acknowledge that they came through my own hand, and state the

INTRODUCTION 1 1

facte exacdy as they are only two hypotheses will be open: first, that they are genuine communications from the disembodied entity; second, that they are lucubrations of my own subconscious mind. But this latter hypothesis does not explain the first letter signed "X," which came before I knew that my friend was dead; does not explain it unless it be assumed that the subconscious mind of each person knows everything. In which case, why should my subconscious mind set out upon a long and laborious deception of me, on a premise which had not been suggested to it by my own objective mind, or that of any other person?

That anyone would accuse me of deliberate deceit and romancing in so serious a matter did not then and does not now seem likely, my fancy having other and legitimate outiets in poetry and fiction.

The letters were probably two-thirds written before this question was finally settled; and I decided that if I published the letters at all, I should publish them with a frank introduction, stating the exact circumstances of their reception by me.

The actual writing covered a period of more than eleven months. Then came the question of editing. What should I leave out? What should I include? I determined to leave out nothing except personal references to "X's" private affairs, to mine, and to those of his friends. I have not added anything. Occasionally, when "X's" literary style was clumsy, I have reconstructed a sentence or cut out a repetition; but I have taken far less liberty than I used, as an editor, to take with ordinary manuscripts submitted to me for correction.

Sometimes "X" is very colloquial, sometimes he uses legal phraseology, or American slang. Often he jumps from one subject to another, as one does in friendly correspondence, going back to his original subject without a connecting phrase.

He has made a few statements relative to the future life which are directly contrary to the opinions which I have always held. These statements remain as they were written. Many of his philosophical propositions were quite new to me. Sometimes I did not see their profundity until months afterwards.

I have no apology to offer for the publication of these letters. They are probably an interesting document, whatever their source may be, and I give them to the world with no more fear than when I gave my hand to "X" in the writing of them.

INTRODUCTION I3

If anyone asks the question, What do I myself diink as to whether these letters are genuine com* munications from the invisible world, I should answer that I believe they are. In the personal and suppressed portions reference was often made to past events and to possessions of which I had no knowledge, and these references were verified. This leaves untouched the favourite telepathic theory of the psychologists. But if these letters were telepathed to me, by whom were they telepathed? Not by my friend who was present at the writing of many of them, for their contents were as much a surprise to her as to me.

I wish, however, to state that I make no scientific claims about this book, for science demands tests and proofs. Save for the first letter signed

"X" before I knew that Mr. was dead, or

knew who "X" was, the book was not written under "test conditions,'' as the psychologists understand the term. As evidence of a soul's survival after bodily death, it must be accepted or rejected by each individual according to his or her temperament, experience, and inner conviction as to the truth of its contents.

In the absence of "X" and without some other entity on the invisible side of Nature in whom I had a like degree of confidence, I could not produce another document of this kind. Against indiscriminate mediumship I have still a strong and ineradicable prejudice, for I recognise its dangers both of obsession and deception. But for my faith' in "X" and the faith of my Paris friend in me, this book could never have been. Doubt of the invisible author or of the visible medium would probably have paralysed both, for the purposes of this writing.

The effect of these letters on me personally has been to remove entirely any fear of death which I may ever have had, to strengthen my belief in immortality, to make the life beyond the grave as real and vital as the life here in the sunshine. If they can give even to one other person the sense of exultant immortality which they have given to me, I shall feel repaid for my labour.

To those who may feel inclined to blame me for publishing such a book I can only say that I have always tried to give my best to the world, and perhaps these letters are one of the best things that I have to g^ve.

ELSA BARKER.

London, 19 13.

LETTERS FROM A LIVING

DEAD MAN

Letter I The Return

I AM here, make no mistake.

It was I who spoke before, and I now speak again.

I have had a wonderful experience. Much that I had forgotten I can now remember. What has happened was for the best; it was inevitable.

I can see you, though not very distinctly.

I found almost no darkness. The light here is wonderful, far more wonderful than the sunlight of the South.

No, I cannot yet see my way very well around Paris; everything is different It is probably by reason of your own vitality that I am able to sec you at this moment.

Letter II Tell No Man

I AM opposite to you now in actual space; that is, I am directly in front of you, resting on something which is probably a couch or divan.

It is easier to come to you after dark.

I remembered on going out that you might be able to let me speak through your hand.

I am already stronger. It is nothing to fear — ^this change of condition.

I cannot tell you yet how long I was silent It did not seem long.

It was I who signed "X.*' The Teacher helped me to make the connexion*

You had better tell no one for a while, except

, that I have come, as I do not want any

obstructions to my coming when and where I will. Lend me your hand sometimes; I will not misuse it.

I am going to stay out here until I am ready to come back with power. Watch for mc, but not yet

i6

TELL NO MAN 1 7

Things seem easier to me now than they have seemed for a long time. I carry less weight. I could have held on longer in the body, but it did not seem worth the effort.

I have seen the Teacher. He is near. His attitude to me is very comforting.

But I would like to go now. Good night.

Letter III Guarding The Door

YOU need to take certain precautions to protect yourself against those who press round me.

You have only to lay a spell upon yourself night and morning. Nothing can get through that wall — ^nothing which you forbid your soul to entertain.

Do not let any of your energy be sucked out of you by these larvas of the astral world. No, they cannot annoy me, for I am now used to the idea of them. You have absolutely nothing to fear, if you protect yourself.

x8

LETTER n^

A CLOUD ON TH£ MIRROR

{After a sentence had been half written, the writing suddenly stopped, and was continued later.)

WHEN you respond to my call, wipe clean your mind as a child wipes its slate when ready for a new maxim or example by its teacher. Your lightest personal thought or fancy may be as a doud upon a mirror, blurring the reflection.

You can receive letters by this means, provided your mind does not begin to work independently, to question in the midst of the writing.

I was not stopped this time, as before, by beings gathering round; but by your own curiosity as to the end of an unusual sentence. You suddenly became positive instead of negative, as if the receiving instrument in a telegraph office should begin to send a message of its own.

I have learned here the reason for many psyduc things which formerly puzzled me, and I am determined if possible to protect you from the danger of cross-currents in this work.

There was one night when I called and you would not let me in. Was that kind?

But I am not reproaching you. I shall come again and again, until my work is done.

I will come to you in a dream before long, and will show you many things.

Letter V The Promise Of Things Untold

AFTER a time I will share with you certain knowledge that I have gained since coming out. I see the past now as through an open window. I see the road by which I have come, and can map out the road by which I mean to go.

Everything seems easy now. I could do twice as much work as I do— -I feel so strong.

As yet I have not settled down anywhere, but am moving about as the fancy takes me; that is what I always dreamed of doing while in the body, and never could make possible.

Do not fear death; but stay on earth as long as you can. Notwithstanding the companionship I have here, I sometimes regret my failure in holding on to the world. But regrets have less weight on this side — like our bodies.

Everything is well with me.

I will tell you things that have never been told.

Letter VI The Wand Op Will

NOT yet do you grasp the full mystery of will. It can make of you anything you choose, within the limit of your unit energy, for everything is either active or potential in the unit of force which is man.

The difference between a painter and a musician, or between a poet and a novelist, is not a difference of qualities in the entity itself; for each unit contains everything except quantity, and thus has the possibilities of development along any line chosen by its will. The choice may have been made ages ago. It takes a long time, often many lives, to evolve an art or a faculty for one particular kind of work in preference to all others. Concentration is the secret of power, here as elsewhere.

As to the use of will-power in your present everyday problems, there are two ways of using the will. One may concentrate upon a definite plan, and bring it into effect or not according to the amount of force at one's disposal; or one

THE WAND OF WILL 23

may will that the best and highest and wisest plan possible shall be demonstrated by the subconscious forces in the self and in other selves. The latter is a conunanding of all environment for a special purpose, instead of commanding, or attempting to command, a fragment of it.

In this communion between the outer and in-, ner worlds, you in the outer world are apt to think that we in ours know everything. You expect us to prophesy like fortune-tellers, and to keep you informed of what is passing on the other side of the globe. Sometimes we can; generally we cannot.

After a while I may be able to enter your mind as a Master does, and to know all the antecedent thoughts and plans in it; but now I cannot always do so.

For instance, one night I looked everjrwhere for — and could not find him. Perhaps it is necessary for you to think strongly of us, to make the way easiest.

I am learning all the time. The Teacher is very active in helping me.

When I am absolutely certain of my hold upon your hand, I shall have much to say about the life out here.

Letter VII A Light Behind The Veil

MAKE an opening for me sometimes in the veil of dense matter that shuts you from my eyes. I see you often as a spot of vivid light, and that is probably when your soul is active with feeling or your mind keen with thought.

I can read your thoughts occasionally, but not always. Often I try to draw near, and cannot find you. You could not always find me, perhaps, should you come out here.

Sometimes I am all alone : sometimes I am with others.

Strange, but I seem to myself to have quite a substantial body now, though at first my arms and legs seemed sprawling in all directions.

As a rule, I do not walk about as formerly, nor do I fly exactly, for I have never had wings ; but I manage to get over space with incredible rapidity. Sometimes, though, I walk.

Now, I want you to do me a favour. You know what a difficult job I often had to keep things

A LIGHT BEHIND THE VEIL 2$

going, yet I kept them going. Don't you get discouraged about the material wherewithal for your work. Work right ahead, as if the supply were there, and it will be there. You can demonstrate it in one way or another. Do not feel weak or uncertain, for when you do you drag me back to earth by force of sympathy. It is as bad as grieving for the; dead.

Letter VIII The Iron Grip Of Matter

TO a man dwelling in the "invisible" there comes a sudden memory of earth.

"Oh 1" he says. "The world is going on without me. What am I missing?"

It seems almost an impertinence on the part of the world to go on without him. He becomes agitated. He is sure that he is behind the times, left out, left over.

He looks about him, and sees only the tranquil fields of the fourth dimension. Oh, for the iron grip of matter once morel To hold something in taut hands I

Perhaps the mood passes, but one day it returns with redoubled force. He must get out of the tenuous environment into the forcibly resistant world of dense matter. But how?

Ah, he remembers I All action comes from memory. It would be a reckless experiment had he not done it before.

He closes his eyes, reversing himself in the in-

a6

THE IRON GRIP OF MATTER 2J

visible. He is drawn to human life, to human beings in the intense vibration of union. There is sympathy here — ^perhaps the sjrmpathy of past experience with the souls of those whom he now contacts, perhaps only sjrmpathy of mood or imagination. Be that as it may, he lets go his hold upon freedom and triumphantly loses himself in the lives of human beings.

After a time he awakes, to look with bewildered eyes upon green fields and the round, solid faces of men and women. Sometimes he weeps, and wishes himself back. If he becomes discouraged, he may return— only to begin the weary quest of matter all over again.

If he is strong and stubborn, he remains and grows into a man. He may even persuade himself that the former life in tenuous substance was only a dream, for in dream he returns to it, and the dream haunts him and spoils his enjojrment of matter.

After years enough he grows weary of the material struggle : his energy is exhausted. He sinks back into the arms of the unseen, and men say again with bated breath that he is dead.

But he is not dead. He has only returned whence he came.

Letter IX Where Souls Go Up And Down

MY friend, there is nothing to fear in death. It is no harder than a trip to a foreign country — the first trip — ^to one who has grown oldish and settled in the habits of his own more or less narrow corner of the world.

When a man comes out here, the strangers whom he meets seem no more strange than the foreign peoples seem to one who first goes among them. He does not always understand them; there, again, his experience is like a sojourn in a foreign country. Then, after a while, he begins to make friendly advances and to smile with the eyes. The question, "Where are you from?" meets with a similar response to that on earth. One is from California, another is from Boston, another is from London. This is when we meet on the highroads of travel; for there are lanes of travel over here, where the souls go up and down as on the earth. Such a road is generally the most direct line between two great centres;

WHERE SOULS GO UP AND DOWN 2^

but it is never on the line of a railway. There would be too much noise. We can hear sounds made on the eartlu There is a certain shock to the etheric ear which carries the vibration of sound to us.

Sometimes one settles down for a long time in one place. I visited an old home in the State of Maine, where a man on this side of life had been stopping for I do not know how many years ; he told me that the children had grown to be men and women, and that a colt to which he became attached when he first came out had grown into a horse and had died of old age.

There are sluggards and dull people here, as with you. There are also brilliant and magnetic people, whose very presence is rejuvenating.

It seems almost absurd to say that we wear clothes, the same as you do ; but we do not seem to need so many. I have not seen any trunks; but then I have been here only a short time.

Heat and cold do not matter much to me now, though I remember at first being rather uncomfortable by reason of the cold. But that is past.

Letter X A Rendezvous In The Fourth Dimension

YOU can do so much for me by lending me your hand occasionally, that I wonder why jrou shrink from it.

This philosophy will go on being taught in the world and all over the world. Only a few, perhaps, ^11 reach the deeps of it in this life; but a seed sown to-day may bear fruit long hence. Somewhere I have read that grains of wheat which had been buried with mummies for two or three thousand years had sprouted when placed in good soil in our own day. It is so with a philosophic seed.

It has been said that he is a fool who works for philosophy instead of making philosophy work for him ; but a man cannot give to the world even a little of a true philosophy without reaping sevenfold himself, and you know the Biblical quotation which ends, ''and in the world to come eternal life.'* To get, one must ^ve. That is the Law.

'A RENDEZVOUS IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION 3 1

I can tell you many things about the life out here which may be of use to others when they make the great change. Almost everyone brings memory over mth him. The men and women I have met and communed with have had more or less vivid recollection of their earth life — ^that is, most of them.

I met one man who refused to speak of the earth, and was always talking about ''going on.*' I reminded him that if he went on far enough he would come back to the place from which he started.

You have been curious, perhaps, as to what we eat and drink, if anything. We certainly are nourished, and we seem to absorb much water. You also should drink plenty of water. It feeds the astral body. I do not think that a very dry body would ever have enough astral vitality to lend a hand to a soul on this plane of life, as you are doing now. There is much moisture in our bodies over here. Perhaps that is one reason why contact with a so-called spirit sometimes gives warm-blooded persons a sense of cold, and they shiver.

It is something of an effort on my part also to write like this, but it seems to be worth while.

I come to the place where I feel that you ire.

I can see you better than most others. Then I reverse; that is^ instead of going in, as I used to dOf I go out with great force and in your direction. I take possession of you by a strong propulsive effort.

Sometimes the writing has stopped suddenly in the midst of a sentence. That was when I was not properly focussed^ You may have noticed when reversing and shutting away the outside world, that a sudden noise, or maybe a wan* dering thought, would bring you right out again. It is so here.

Now, about this element in which we live. It undoubtedly has a place in space, for it is all around the earth. Yes, every tree visible has its invisible counterpart* When you, before sleep, come out consciously into this world,^ you see things that exist, or have existed, in the material world also. You cannot see anj^hing in this world which has not a physical counterpart in the other. There are, of course, thoughtpictures, imaginary pictures; but to see imaginatively is not to see on the astral plane — ^not by any means. The things you see before going to sleep have real existence, and by changing your rate of vibration you come out into this world*— or

A RENDEZVOUS IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION 35

rather you go back into it, for you have to go in« in order to come out.

Imagination has great powen If you make a picture in the mind, the vibrations of the body may adjust to it if the will is directed that way, as in thoughts of health or sickness.