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