How I know that the dead are alive

Contents

Chapter

I Lifting the Veil.

II The Visible and Invisible.

Foreword

**Fools deride — philosophers investigate.'^

In writing this book I am yielding to a sense of duty, that impels me to offer to the thinking and reading public, a series of incidents, embracing psychological experiences, that came to me as unsought and unasked as I am giving them to those who care to avail themselves of the reading thereof; and no matter how adversely their lack of sequence may impress the reader, they impressed the writer similarly when they intruded themselves upon her discriminating mentality.

When evidence of this mysterious force first manifested itself, May 21st, 191 1, I was an avowed nonbeliever in religion of any kind, with little knowledge and less toleration of all things supernatural. Naturally, deep impressions resulted and my viewpoint veered around in harmony with demonstrated facts, but I have no ^'Isms" to inflict on those who read. I am simply recording a chain of incidents just as they came to me in all their mystery-laden weirdness, without intent of interfering with the desire, belief or faith of any one, as I have even less respect for the person who changes his opinions with every opportunity than I have for the pent-up, fossilized mind that admits its limitations by never changing. My hope is that the reader will maintain an open mind throughout the reading and then investigate the subject thoroughly for himself, as knowledge is never really knowledge unless we know for ourselves, to which this subject lends itself admirably, for where it is concerned one either knows or does not know.

From the inception of these phenomena to the writing of this book I have respected a constraint not to read books or writings on the subject; therefore, it is needless for me to say that I am not affiliated with, nor am I writing under, the auspices of any person, sect, cult or society.

The conscious continuity of life after death has always been attested by the universal instinct and believed by nearly every one, as it is the foundation of all religions. Unfortunately, it has been so shrouded in mystery and uncertainty that its solution has engaged the prophets, sages and philosophers since before the Father of Wisdom said ''There is nothing new under the sun" to this, our very materialistic present; during which time there has been such a persistence of evidence that we are compelled to admit that there is something, somewhere, not dreamt of in our materialistic philosophy.

Chapter I Lifting The Veil

'^There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy/'

"Are you afraid?" came distinctly above the "rattle of the rail" causing me to look up in quick apprehension from the newspaper I was reading and move my eyes inquiringly about the coach. The equanimity of the other passengers so surprised and puzzled me, that, somewhat embarrassed at having started up and stared around without any apparent reason, I lowered my eyes and settled down in the most profound perplexity, asking myself what it could mean. Unquestionably I had heard it, as I remembered not only the words but the very tone in which they had been uttered, despite all of which there was no evidence of any one having spoken nor did any one appear to have heard. The voice was as distinctly human as any I had ever heard but no person in the coach evidenced the slightest interest in what had been said. I was alone in the seat but the voice seemed loud and distinct enough to have been heard by those in the adjacent ones — why had they not heard? A sense of the mysterious began creeping upon me under which I became quite perturbed and more determined upon a satisfactory solution of what then seemed the most unaccountable thing conceivable.

After revolving the matter in my mind for a few minutes, still deeply perplexed, I again turned in my seat, which was near the front and faced the rear, manifesting as little concern in so doing as was possible under a condition so at variance with equilibrium of mind and manner, and scrutinized the face of every one in the coach all of whom were concerned, apparently, only with their own thoughts or conversations. That the sentence had not emanated from any of the passengers was as conclusive as the conviction that they not heard. I was none the less positive that I had heard.

Then I began to analyze it — to put the search light of reason on it — by what process could I have heard to the exclusion of others confined equally within the sound area? I could feel my positiveness neutralizing — my mind beginning to fluctuate between doubt and assurance. One minute I was positive I had heard it — the next admitting the impossibility of it. When confirmation in the negative was needed the serenity of the passengers gave it, as I was sufficiently a student of humanity to know that if that number of persons had heard a sentence of such import with no explanation as to the source of it, all would not possess the self control requisite for such outward calm. But when I looked away out of the window on the calm face of nature there was something that renewed assurance — something that seemed to fasten the reality of it on my soul. It was a problem I could neither shake off nor solve.

Torn by the conflict of it I became restless, ill at ease and so generally uncomfortable that I removed my hat and gloves (which I often do when traveling) and after putting them in the rack, settled down with the determination of dismissing the entire matter, trying to convince myself that I was coping with a delusion — lending myself to the most unreasonable fancies. All of which was useless — it would not down

— it haunted me with disconcerting persistency — in the midst of my denials of its existence I was conscious of wondering if it was not a warning of a train wreck and of remembering that I had read of such things.

Had I been of an imaginative temperament or addicted to belief in the supernatural, occult or kindred subjects, I would doubtless have been spared much of the perplexing conjectures which involved me but I had always prided myself on my ^'strong mindedness," so much so that even the mysteries of religion did not appeal to nor impress me. At that time I was an avowed Atheist with only patronizing pity for those less free in thought. Science, so called, dominated me, shaping my thoughts and actions in all things. That which I could not weigh, measure, see nor feel did not exist for me. I was skeptical of all things that could not be measured by the yard-stick of science and here I was, confronted with something that brought the realization that the aforesaid yardstick was lamentably inadequate to the demand made upon it. No, no, this was an impossible conclusion — I could not accept it and tried earnestly to formulate some scientific explanation for the phenomenon but this being impossible, I determined to dismiss it — let it go unsolved in so far as I was concerned. How foolish it seemed that I had permitted myself to indulge in such a mental upheaval all because of some unaccountable freak of fancy — a figment of the imagination.

Forcibly dismissing the subject I gathered up the bulky Sunday paper and resumed reading with a forced interest, accompanying which was a minor chord of pride, of being well pleased with myself that my allegiance to so-called science had withstood lo How I Know That

such an acid test and feeling that never again would I give a moment's consideration to anything so absurd as a voice coming out of space and projecting words as it came. I could have laughed at the incongruity of it.

And then — suddenly a cold touch was upon my hand and looking I started violently — stared at a detached, shadowy hand, hovering over mine and long spectral fingers closing gently over it, taking my hand within their grasp. My first impulse was to draw it hastily away but something seemed to hold it where it was, as the paper slipped from my nerveless fingers, rattling noisily as it fell, partly on the floor and partly in my lap. Awe held every muscle rigid and an unearthly coldness was upon me. I could feel the blood leaving my face and the strength oozing out of my body as I sat petrified, with eyes fixed upon the weird hand as it took mine into its cold clasp, pressed it gently, as in the act of shaking hands, and vanished. My hand, numb and weak beyond my ability to control, fell unrestrained into my lap, where it lay listlessly, palm up, on the crumpled paper, my eyes still fastened upon it, awaiting yet shrinking from further developments. Nothing eventuated.

Slowly I relaxed, thawed out, as it were, and began to wonder if any of the other passengers had seen the hand but did not dare to look around lest my face betray my emotion, realizing that such a hurricane within must have its storm signals without. With this realization I began suppressing any outward evidence of emotion and gathering up the paper settled myself back in a more or less studied attitude of composure, pretending to read, while I thought it out — trying to square sanity with such a happening.

Suddenly I was conscious of the most startling thing imaginable — I was not alone in the seat! An intangible presence, indefinable yet existent was beside me, so near that I could have reached out my hand and have touched it (be assured that I didn't). A heavy coldness oppressed me, little breaths of air fanned my face, hands and feet, sending cold waves of apprehension into every nerve, as I perceived the presence moving, space by space, nearer to me, almost overcoming me with awe.

It was touching me — soft touches came upon my hand, at first not heavier than the falling of a feather but gradually increasing to perceptible indentations, which I could feel and see, in so far as the indentations were concerned, but could not see the cause that produced them. When the indentations on the hand ceased, I could see shadowy fingers, so transparent as to be scarcely perceptible, more of a suggestion than a reality, moving up my arm, touching lightly as they went. A moment later I felt them distinctly •on my face, first on the forehead, then, in a patting^ caressing way, on the cheeks. At every point of contact a cold impression remained, despite the fact that the spectral fingers had become humanly warm, which outweighed in '^creepiness" the touch of the cold.

Distinctly came the impression as of an open hand passing over my hair, as though smoothing it back in a caressing way (producing anything but a caressing effect). My whole being seemed slipping into unconsciousness, as I struggled against the perturbing mystery, trying to keep ever uppermost in my mind that I was not alone but one of many passengers and must therefore regulate my actions accordingly, maintaining outward calm regardless of what was raging within, which seemed the most trying test ever put upon my self control, especially so when that great, weird, awe-inspiring presence came nearer and nearer, until I could feel its body pressing heavily against mine as it stood beside me. As I waited in agonized suspense two hands, instead of one, were caressing my hair, then two cold palms were taking my face between themselves — after a moment there was a gentle lifting pressure and I knew my head was being thrown back — my face lifted. I looked up and caught the faintest glimpse of dark, luminous, detached eyes looking down into mine — the eyes were all I saw — the outline of the face shading into nothingness.

I could feel the pressure withdraw and lowered my eyes quickly, turning my face away toward the window, fearing it mirrored my agitation of mind, which might subject me to the criticism to any who might be observing. Thus I sat rigidly — almost incapable of movement, held apparently by a power stronger than my ability to move or to think coherently; therefore, for the time being, I did neither, while ardently desiring to do both. Meantime that unearthly being in all of its weird persistence, pressed its touches, its caresses upon me until awe merged into resignation and resignation into indifference — a feeling that I must endure that which I was powerless to control.

With the coming of this resignation the shadowy fingers ceased their manipulations, the weird presence sat down beside me. I knew it was there — could have put my hand upon it without looking around, but instead with my hand resting on the window sill I continued to look straight out over the green fields and the grazing cattle, not daring to think or trying to explain it to myself — even then I realized it was the one thing of all things I preferred not accepting — the demonstrated existence of the so-called supernatural.

This most undesirable mental constraint was interrupted by a voice, softly calling my name — ''Fanny." Instinctively I turned toward the presence beside me in a listening attitude without even a suggestion of fear or uncertainty. The mystery of the voice was solved.

For some seconds I waited in listening attitude but as nothing further was said, I relaxed and would have resumed my position, looking out the window, but was arrested by a voice in pleasant challenge :

''You were not afraid, were you?"

"No; but woefully mystified," I answered mentally, that is thought it, feeling that if this apparition, creature, being, ghost or goblin, or whatever it was, could not hear without my attracting the attention of the passengers by speaking aloud to that which was to them not only unseen but unrecognizable in any way, conversation would either have to be dispensed with entirely or conducted on a one-sided basis, as it was very evident that I alone heard the voice or was conscious of the presence. However, to thoroughly satisfy myself on this point I looked the passengers over carefully again confirming my conclusion, which, while it increased the mystery, was a mental relief, as I felt that I could better cope with it alone than to attract attention to that which I could not any more explain to myself than I could to any one else.

I wondered somewhat resentfully why I had been left to puzzle and conjecture over the source of the voice, when evidently the author of it was there all the time and could have spared me the mental disturbance to which I had been subjected. My thoughts were answered as though I had spoken.

''It was better so."

My grievance vanished at the sound of the voice, so human, clear and distinct that the strangeness grew upon me that I was the only one who could hear it — it seemed so unreasonable. Again my thought was answered:

"When you understand it will no longer seem strange."

"It is strange enough now," I mentally ejaculated, as I settled back resigned to anything that might eventuate, which was evidently an ideal condition for the furtherance of this mode of conversation, as the voice began instantly:

"He is waiting for you." This not only surprised but interested me. I knew the reference was made to my fiance who was waiting at the Grand Central Depot in Houston to meet me upon my arrival in that city where I was enroute to spend the day at his invitation. My thoughts went so absorbingly to the object in question that I ignored the presence until a touch on the arm came as a reminder that I had withdrawn my attention while it was yet required. I resumed the listening attitude and the voice continued as though uninterrupted :

"He is not coming home for some time." While I did not know just when he would return I knew it was not unlikely that he would be detained many days from home, as he was of those who "sat at cards" in the political game, the issue of which, at that time, was of state-wide importance, requiring his presence in the various sections of the state and leaving little time for aught else.

Here I beg pardon for introducing that which is seemingly irrelevant to the subject but as the seen and the unseen are so intimately interwoven it is almost impossible to treat of one without including the other, especially so, when one is retailing one's personal experiences, where everything points to the mundane and supermundane in their relation to each other as "parts of one stupendous whole," by the very nature of which there are other personalities yet to be incorporated for which I apologize in advance.

Nothing would please me more than the elimination of the personal pronoun I in this writing, but the sense of duty that impels me to write requires even more — that my soul be bared to those who read and as it is a very sensitive soul I would ask my readers to be, at least, charitable with it, as it shrinks at every page in retailing that which should doubtless remain sacred only to itself, but I cannot tear out of my consciousness the conviction that there are those who see the light dimly and will thank me for daring to give utterance to that which most of us would lock up within the secret recesses of our hearts with fear and trembling lest some one find it out and criticise.

My spectral visitor, evidently knowing the subject most interesting to me, went on speaking of my husband-to-be and his political affairs, as one who knows, disclosing many things of vital importance affecting his interests, to which it is needless to say, I listened most absorbingly, ever marveling at the wonder of it. Thus I listened uninterruptedly until I perceived the train slowing down and looked out the window into the blue-gray eyes of my fiance and bowed in recognition as he did in return. The train having stopped, I arose and as the presence was between me and the aisle, hesitated as instinctively as though it were a human being, but as this sense of obstruction passed almost instantly, I filed out and down the aisle along with the other passengers, hoping that I bore no visible evidence of having undergone one of the most mysterious experiences that could possibly incorporate itself into an otherwise ordinary railroad journey of less than two hours.

The Dead Are Alive ij

Chapter II The Visible And Invisible

After exchanging greetings with my fiance and his secretary I accompanied them to the Brazos Hotel, across from the depot. In a few minutes we had turned one of the parlors into an impromptu business office where he read the telegrams, letters, etc., I had brought with me from his Galveston office.

While he dictated answers to his secretary, a soft voice came apologetically:

^^Do I intrude?"

^'No," I made answer, as I was in no way engaged except as an audience to a dictating party in which I had no part, and felt that I had just as well listen to this mystery-laden voice as to sit there thinking of nothing else — how could I think of anything else with the mystery of it so fresh in my mind?

The voice went on speaking in the most businesslike manner making me wonder at the knowledge it displayed as to the contents of the letters and before the answer was dictated anticipated accurately what it was to be, adding a preview as to the final outcome of the correspondence.

I was glad when it was all over and we adjourned to the dining room for lunch, feeling relief to be removed from its incessant talking and prognostications. But fancy my surprise when I perceived the invisible presence occupying the one vacant chair at the table! In an effort to shut out cognizance of its existence, I launched into a spirited political argument in which all three became so interested that I did forget the presence until while laughing at a witticism I was startled by soft rippling laughter, joining in our mirth, so human that it seemed inconceivable for it to have emanated from a presence not of earth. Something like a shiver ran through me as I looked at the place where I knew the presence was — all I saw was the faintest glimpse of shadowy fingers hovering over the white cloth — a ghost a member of a luncheon party! It was with something of an efifort I again took up the thread of the suddenly suspended argument, simulating an interest I was far from feeling, as I could not get away from the travesty of a "dead" person, sitting as though dining with the '^living," for such seemed to me the only solution of the mystery.

In the afternoon we went to the theatre. The performance consumed more time than we had anticipated, and on coming out found we had only a few minutes in which to reach the depot in time for the train. As we hurried along the voice came distinctly, "Don't worry — don't worry — you will get there in time." I just did. I had scarcely settled myself in the seat when the train moved out.

Tired? I do not think I was ever quite so tired in my life, mentally and physically. My mind was surfeited with strange food for conjecture — enough to last a lifetime; and yet there beside me, clothed in all its alluring weirdness was that mysterious being from somewhere beyond the mundane — a being from the impenetrable shadows far out beyond the explorations of man — waiting to add to the burden already laid upon my consciousness. I resented it, holding myself aloof from even the admission that it was there — I wanted to rest — to get away from it until understanding could cope with it. The strain of shutting it out was nerve-racking, and finally I gave up, relaxed and listened.

"I am here," came with gentle promptness.

I sighed aloud and mentally cried out:

''What is the meaning of it — what will be the outcome of it — is it madness?"

A pained voice smote my consciousness :

"If you command it I will withdraw myself from your consciousness and never enter it again."

''Oh, no; no;" I cried, adding apologetically, "I am tired — very tired — let me rest and then you can explain everything and I will be no longer mystified."

"Rest be thine — when you call FU be waiting."

With a sense of relief I lay back on the seat with closed eyes and rest came with a sensation of being lifted out of or above the weariness by a process new to me. By thus relaxing I had fallen into harmonious psychological vibrations that rested by a mental rather than physical process and while still marveling at the pleasant effectiveness of it, I realized I was no longer weary but in perfect harmony with life and all its conditions. There was a new joy — a new light burning somewhere within me, flooding my soul with a radiance that was as beautiful as it was inexplicable. I seemed to have touched something I had never touched before; a new gate had opened and I had entered in.

With this new joyousness singing in my soul, I listened (my latest accomplishment). Such a simple little act when once acquired — this obscuring the physical and opening the consciousness to the spiritual! In the cadence of music came the voice:

"Blessed be the rest that giveth thy soul into communion above the earth."

"Who are you?" I questioned.

''That also you will know."

While this was anything but a satisfactory answer there was something that pressed against further questioning and I waited for the voice to take the initiative in the conversation, which it did by asking:

''Shall I tell you some things that will convince you that I am thoroughly acquainted with your life?"

"I shall be pleased to be convinced," I made assurance.

"So you shall be," came the voice solemnly.

The voice, in a retrospective tone, went back, far back, invading childhood, to the very first records of memory's tablet and came on down, incident by incident, chapter by chapter, to the very present, giving dates, names and figures, speaking frankly of personal matters, giving voice to that which had never been spoken — that which my inner consciousness retained and held sacred.

It is impossible to conceive of the effect such a revelation can have on one. It produced a veritable whirl of conflicting emotions but the candid inoffensiveness of the voice smoothed away every emotion except wonder. And truly it was wonderful.

When the resume had ended there was a pause in which I felt awkward and ill at ease — the voice was hushed and I was so astounded by what I had heard that there seemed nothing to say — it had all been said. Suddenly a thought came and floated into speech :

"Could you hew so close to the line as to the future?"

"Yes; shall I proceed?"

As I was opening my consciousness to say "yes," an icy wave struck me dumb; a cold shivering sensation engulfed me; apprehension held me like a vice as I struggled to free myself that I might answer ^*no." In the midst of which the pressure suddenly lifted and I cried beseechingly (mentally) :

''Oh, don't — please don't."

Quite in contrast to my agitated appeal the voice replied in a soft, dreamy way:

"It is better so."

Unaccountably depressed I turned my face to the window, where the cool breeze fanned it, as I looked out at the moon and the first stars of the evening and I remember thinking, with a sense of gratitude that they, at least, were unchanged, for somehow it seemed to me that everything — life itself — had changed within the last few hours. Then I was asking myself : why did I shrink from the knowledge of what the future had to give; why these shivers of foreboding in every nerve? A voice chimed cheerily into the depression, which vanished as the dew before the sun :

" 'Laugh and the world laughs with you' — you know the rest — this applies equally to the spirit world."

"Spirit world," I echoed, half wonderingly. "It must be a spirit," I mused almost forgetful of the presence, until it interrupted:

"Now I want you to listen attentively."

"At your service," I hastened to assure, as I changed the aural gear from the physical into the spiritual.

The voice began, so human in its every accent that still I marveled at it. From the ordinary tone it began alternating high, low; harsh, gentle; soft, loud; and while I wondered at such a proceeding, it quoted softly in a far away, dreamy voice :

''How pure in heart and sound in head, With what affections bold, Should be the man whose thoughts would hold An hour's communion with the dead."

"The dead," I mused and fell under the spell of its awesomeness, from which I was awakened abruptly by the voice screaming into my consciousness :

''Who wrote that?"

"I don't know," I cried, "but for mercy's sake don't deafen me with your vocal gymnastics — it hurts."

"Wonderful — wonderful," purred the voice, "How sensitive your hearing is — and you really could discriminate as to the tones?"

"Every variation," I replied.

"Why did you not say so before?"

"I thought you knew."

"I was sounding your sensitiveness to ascertain to what extent it could be relied on."

"I could hear your voice, in its every intonation, as well as any human voice."

"Marvelous — marvelous."

My companion was evidently delighted, which fact pleased me and we entered into conversation as unreservedly as any two earth beings.

To avoid any misconception as to the modus operandi of such conversation it may be well to explain that my questions and answers wer^e given at all times mentally and under no circumstance did I ever speak aloud, while the voice speaking to me had the same sound and tone as a person speaking in ordinary conversation. Hereafter when I say "I said," etc., understand that I simply think and it is heard just as though I had spoken, as thought is the language of souls. Had it been otherwise I would not be writing this as I would have foregone the privilege of such communion rather than make myself v^orse than ridiculous by speaking aloud to that which to the material senses has no existence; it would bear the semblance of madness.

This process of hearing is like, yet wondrously unlike, its physical application. In automobile parlance it might be described as ^'changing gears," which is accomplished by reversing the connecting link which holds automatic connection between the physical and the inner consciousness, and which by a mental process can be thrown out of automatic harmony with the physical as effectively as the physical, under ordinary conditions, shuts out the spiritual. By this reversal the spiritual hearing, which is from within, transmits itself to the physical sense instead of vice versa — to the receiving senses the sound of the voice is the same. When once the right connection is understood and established this mode of hearing is as easy and spontaneous as the physical — it is all a matter of proper connection with the right vibrations.