Matters of Life and Death: 6
Hold down a note on a piano – say, middle C – so it makes no noise. Now play another C two octaves lower, and what happens? The middle C sounds faintly in sympathy. It resonates. There is something in that lower C which brings out something in the middle C.
This happens to me when I read certain items. They resonate as if they have found something within me. I might feel a sting of memory, as though retrieving a buried dream – a pang of nostalgia, as though recovering a forgotten existence.
Allow me to share with you some items which seem to tell me, by resonance, about a Life Beyond. They may or may not resonate with you, but that’s good: life would be poor indeed if we lacked any differences to stimulate us.
The Awakening Letters, edited by Cynthia Sandys and Rosamond Lehmann, contains a number of travellers’ tales, the communicators varying from simple types and sceptics, to enthusiasts and advanced souls. Here’s part of an “awakening letter” from a good but unexceptional man, somewhat surprised to find himself essentially unchanged. His helpers intend to alter that, however, taking him towards some healing “lakes” – a journey which involves a few charming oddities.
“Off we went, moving with great ease so long as she held my arm. Once she let go and I lost my balance and began to fall, but I never reached the ground. I lay on the air, as if it were a sofa. It was a peculiar feeling, and all the time a queer lightness was coming over me. My body seemed of a different texture, and when I moved my limbs they were so light, they felt almost like paper... I ceased to be the heavy practical person which I had been for the last eighty odd years, and became for the time being the most feather-headed immortal!”
Now, I am almost sure I can remember parts of that. I’m sure I’ve tripped and lain horizontal on the air, wondering how I got there and how to get down again. Did I dream it? Did I do it? And the limbs as light as paper – surely I can recall that from somewhere, some time...
Back to the tale. They reach “a valley where a whole chain of tiny lakes lay like a string of precious stones set in green velvet.” Our narrator dives into the first, which is “pale gold, like dropping straight into a buttercup.” Then into a second one, which is blue.
“Then we went on to the third which was almost peach coloured, pale pink, moving into gold and pale orange. This, I was told, was my first direct contact with the Christ power, and with an immense sense of awe I felt my whole body relaxing and contracting rhythmically as though it were automatically trying to align itself with this far higher and most wonderful vibration.”
Once again, I have a sense of knowing the thing already. Those lakes, that water – they seem both real and unreal, as though they are metaphors for something deeper. As it happens, most travellers’ tales from the Beyond include items like this – surroundings that are familiar and not familiar – landscapes that are more than landscapes, bodies that aren’t exactly bodies.
However, we’d be justified in wondering if we should expect something more spiritualised, more abstract, than these quasi-physical reports. Such material is provided elsewhere in The Awakening Letters in a section given over to one Father Andrew Glazewski, a much-loved Polish priest, mystic, scientist and musician.
“I accepted death, and as I did so the whole world changed. The room blazed with light. The books on the table, the chairs, even the carpet and curtains, everything in that room was alive with love power... I had often tried to feel this at-oneness with the Divine, but never succeeded to this overwhelming extent. I felt like a piece of blotting paper that was being saturated with light. I waited in an ecstasy – every moment was beyond words. I became tireless in my power to receive.”
Such an extract might evoke a different sort of recognition in us, more supercharged, more essential – but also perhaps more daunting. Unsurprisingly after such a start, Father Andrew outgrows his quasi-physical body and moves into a more abstract state.
“I have been a long way outside our solar system, but it was on the next plane and I can give very few details... I now have no body as such. I am a group of vibrations for ever growing more complex and at the same time simpler. I am an awareness in the atmosphere. I know that sounds too diaphanous, but in reality I am far more concentrated in thought.”
I wonder how other people might react to this. Outright scepticism is one response, of course; but, apart from that, does it seem scary perhaps or exciting? Father Andrew himself had both reactions, feeling dwarfed by the vastness of everything but also exhilarated by the sense of expansion. Let’s follow him in one more extract as, guided by old friends, he journeys through the cosmos.
“My friends also seemed small, but I was glad of their company, and together we swung on through this delightful area of planets and suns. We seemed to pass an immense number of worlds in all types of development and different grades of vibration. There were colours such as I have never seen before. I have no name for them, but they each had a different effect upon me and I began to grow.”
And there perhaps we should leave it. “Human kind cannot bear very much reality,” as T.S. Eliot suggested in Burnt Norton, so let’s put the kettle on, have a cuppa and settle down to watching the TV for a bit. We can always nip back into the cosmos another time.
May I invite you to make certain purchases? (I may? Why, thank you...)
(a) The Salamander Stone (by my most excellent and trusty pal, Mrs Me) from one of these outlets:
Direct from the publisher, Burst Books: click here
Amazon UK: click here
(b) The Two Worlds of Wellesley Tudor Pole (by Mrs Me’s most excellent and trusty pal, Me):
Amazon UK: click here
Amazon.com (US): click here
(You’ll be getting both of them? Well, that is an admirable choice, if I may say so...)