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LETTER XI
THE BOY–LIONEL
YOU will be interested
to know that there are people out here, as on the earth, who devote themselves
to the welfare of others.
There is even a large organisation of
souls who call themselves a League. Their special work is to take hold of those
who have just come out, helping them to find themselves and to adjust to the new
conditions. There are both men and women in this League. They have done good
service. They work on a little—I do not want to say higher plane than the
Salvation Army, but rather a more intellectual plane. They help both children
and adults.
It is interesting about the children. I
have not had time yet to observe all these things for myself; but one of the
League workers tells me that it is easier for children to adjust themselves to
the changed life than it is for grown persons. Very old people are inclined to
sleep a good deal, while children come out with great energy, and bring with
them the same curiosity that they had in earth life. There are no violent
changes. The little ones grow up, it is said, about as gradually and
imperceptibly as they would have grown on earth. The tendency is to fulfil the normal rhythm, though there are instances where the soul goes back very soon,
with little rest. That would be a soul with great curiosity and strong desires.
There are horrors out here—far worse than
the horrors on earth. The decay from vice and intemperance is much worse here
than there. I have seen faces and forms that were really frightful, faces that
seemed to be half-decayed and falling in pieces. These are the hopeless cases,
which even the League of workers I spoke about leave to their fate. It is
uncertain what the fate of such people will be; whether they will reincarnate or
not in this cycle, I do not know.
The children are so charming! One young
boy is with me often; he calls me Father, and seems to enjoy my society. He
would be, I should think, about thirteen years old, and he has been out here
some time. He could not tell me just how long, but I will ask him if he
remembers the year, the calendar year, in which he came out.
It is not true that we cannot keep our
thoughts to ourselves if we are careful to do so. We can guard our secrets, if
we know how. That is done by suggestion, or laying a spell. It is, though, much
easier here than on earth to read the minds of others.
We seem to communicate with one another in
about the same way that you do; but I find, as time goes by, that I converse
more and more by powerful and projected thought than by the moving of the lips.
At first I always opened my mouth when I had anything to say; it is easier now
not to do so, though I sometimes do it still by force of habit. When a man has
recently come out he does not understand another unless he really speaks; that
is, I suppose, before he has learned that he also can talk without using much
breath.
But I was telling you about the boy. He is
all interest in regard to certain things I have told him about the
earth,—especially aeroplanes, which were not yet very practicable when he came
out. He want to go back and fly in a aeroplane. I tell him that he can fly here
without one, but that does not seem to be the same thing to him. He wants to get
his fingers on machinery.
I advise him not to be in any hurry about
going back. The curious thing about it is that he can remember other and former
lives of his on earth. Many out here have no more memory of their former lives,
before the last one, than they had while in the body. This is not a place where
everyone knows everything—far from it. Most souls are nearly as blind as they
were in life.
The boy was an inventor in a prior
incarnation, and he came out this time by an accident, he says. He should stay
here a little longer, I think, to get a stronger rhythm for a return. That is
only my idea. I am so interested in the boy that I should like to keep him, and
perhaps that influences my judgment somewhat.
You see, we are still human.
You asked me some questions, did you not?
Will you speak them aloud? I can hear.
Yes, I feel considerably younger than I
have felt for a long time, and I am well. At first I felt about as I did in my
illness, with times of depression and times of freedom from depression; but now
I am all right. My body does not give me much trouble.
I believe that old people grow younger
here until they reach their prime again, and that then they may hold that for a
long time.
You see, I have not become all-wise. I
have been able to pick up a good deal of knowledge which I had forgotten; but
about all the details of this life I still have much to learn.
Your curiosity will help me to study
conditions and to make inquiries, which otherwise I might not have made for a
long time, if ever. Most people do not seem to learn much out here, except that
naturally they learn the best and easiest way of getting on, as in earth life.
Yes, there are schools here where any who
wish for instruction can receive it—if they are fit. But there are only a few
great teachers. The average college professor is not a being of supreme
wisdom, whether here or there.
LETTER XII
LETTER X |
