William Moses was a 19th century medium. One aspect of his mediumship was that he would ask questions and, in response, the spirit (or spirits) would control his arm and write their responses. He was not aware of what they were writing until he read their words, which were often written quickly and in very small, fine text. The book, "Spirit Teachings" is composed of those dialogues. The text in the square brackets ([]) are the words of Moses. And following that are the words of angels.

For those of you who would like to read more, here is a link to this book on the Internet Archive:

https://archive.org/details/spiritteachings00moseiala

[On reading over consecutively this series of communications which I had received, I was more than ever struck by their beauty, both of form and matter. When I considered that they were written with vast rapidity, without conscious thought on my part, that they were free from blot or blemish of grammatical construction, and that there was no interlineation or correction throughout their whole course, I could not but wonder at their form. As regards the subject-matter, I was still in difficulty. There was much in them with which I sympathised; but at the same time I could not get rid of the idea that the faith of Christendom was practically upset by their issue. I believed that, however it might be disguised, such would be their outcome in the end. No man, I reasoned, could accept such teaching, in its spirit as well as in its letter, without being led to throw aside very much that the Christian world had agreed to receive as de fide. The central dogmas seemed especially attacked: and it was this that startled me. A very extended acquaintance with the writings of theologians—Greek, Roman, Anglican, and Protestant, especially those of the modern German school of thought—had prepared me to make little of divergence of opinion on minor matters. I knew that such divergences were inseparable from the subject. I also knew that individual opinion on abstruse mysteries of revelation is of little worth. I should have even been prepared for startling statements on such matters. But here was a very different matter. The points impugned seemed to me to be of the very essence of the Christian religion. To “spiritualise,” or, as I preferred to call it, to explain away these, seemed to me absolutely fatal to my belief in any revelation whatsoever. After long and patient thought, I could come to no other conclusion; and I shrank from accepting such momentous issues on the ipse dixit of an intelligence of whom I knew, and could know, so little. I felt that I must have more time for thought: and that I, at any rate, was not ripe for the acceptance of a creed, however, beautiful, which was not better attested, and less iconoclastic. These objections I stated. In answer it was written:—]

You have said wisely.  Time is requisite that you may ponder deeply that which is indeed of vital import.  We leave you to think over what we have advanced with a full conviction that you will, in time, assimilate the teaching, and appreciate its importance.  Should you desire enlightenment from us on any points, it shall be given; but we will not force upon you other communications until time has done for you what you require.  Let patience and earnest prayerfulness have full sway.

You know not in your cold earth atmosphere, so chilling, so repellent to spirit life, how the magnetic rapport between your spirit and the guides who wait to bear its petition upwards is fostered by frequent prayer.  It is as though the bond were tightened by frequent use; as though the intimacy ripened by mutual association.  You would pray more did you know how rich a spiritual blessing prayer brings.  Your learned sages have discussed much of the value of prayer, and have wandered in a maze of opinion, befogged and ignorant of the real issue.  They do not know—how should they?—of the angel messengers who hover round ready to help the spirit that cries to its God.  They know not of the existence of such, for they cannot test their presence by human science in its present state; and so, with crude effort, they would reduce the results of prayer to line and measure.  They try to gauge its results, and to estimate its effect by the compilation of statistics.  And still they find themselves in difficulty, for though they grasp the shell, the spirit eludes their ken.  Such results are not to be so measured, for they are imperceptible by man’s science.  They are spiritual, varying in various cases: different as are the agencies at work.

Frequently it is the unspoken petition which is not granted that is the cause of richest blessing to the praying soul.  The very cry of the burdened spirit shot forth into the void—a cry wrung out by bitter sorrow—is an unknown relief.  The spirit is lightened, though the prayer is not granted in the terms of its petition.  You know not why: but could you see, as we see, the guardians labouring to pour into the sorrow-laden soul the balm of sympathy and consolation, you would know whence comes that strange peace which steals over the spirit, and assures it of a sympathising and consoling God.  The prayer has done its work, for it has drawn down an angel friend: and the bursting heart, crushed with its load of care and sorrow, is comforted by angel sympathy.

This, the magnetic sympathy which we can shed around those with whom we are in close communion, is one of the blessed effects which can be wrought by the cry of a human soul reaching upward to its God.  And under no other conditions can the full blessedness of spirit intercourse be realised.  It is the spirit that is most spiritualised that alone can enter into the secret chambers where the angels dwell.  It is to the soul that lives in frequent communion with us that we are best able to come nigh.  This, friend, is invariable: another part of that unchangeable law which governs all our intercourse with your world.  To the spiritual soul come, in richest measure, spiritual gifts.

Nor is it always the answer which man in his ignorance expects that is the truest response to his petition.  Many times to grant his request would be to do him grievous harm.  He has asked ignorantly, petulantly, foolishly: and his prayer is unheeded in its request: but it has availed to place his spirit in communion with an intelligence which is waiting an opportunity of approach, and which can minister to him strength and consolation in his necessity.

’Twere well if men would more strive to live a life of prayer.  Not the morbid life of devotion falsely so called, which consists in neglecting duty and in spending the precious hours of the probation life in morbid self-anatomy: in developing unhealthy self-scrutiny: in idle, dreamy contemplation, or in forced and unreal supplication.  The life of prayer is far other, as we advise it.  Prayer to be real must be the heart-cry, spontaneous and impulsive, to friends who hover near.  The fancy of a prayer to the ear of an ever-present God who is willing to alter unalterable laws in response to a capricious request has done much to discredit the idea of prayer altogether.  Believe it not!  Prayer—the spontaneous cry of the soul to its God through the friends who, it knows, are near, and are ever ready to catch up the unuttered petition and bear it upwards and ever upwards till it reach a power that can respond—this is no matter of formal preparation.  It consists not in any act of outward show.  It is not necessarily syllabled in utterance: far less is it trammelled by conventional form, or bound up in stereotyped phraseology.  True prayer is the ready voice of spirit communing with spirit: the cry of the soul to invisible friends with whom it is used to speak: the flashing along the magnetic line a message of request which brings, swift as thought, its ready answer back.

It is the placing of a suffering soul in union with a ministering spirit who can soothe and heal.  It needs no words, no attitude, no form.  It is truest when these are absent, or at least unstudied.  It needs but a recognition of a near guardian, and an impulse to communion.  To this end it must be habitual: else, like the limb long disused, the impulse is paralysed.  Hence, it is those of you who live most in the spirit who penetrate deepest into the hidden mysteries.  We can come nearest to them.  We can touch hidden chords in their nature which vibrate only to our touch, and are never stirred by your world’s influences.  ’Tis they who reach highest in their earth-life, for they have learned already to commune with spirit, and are fed with spiritual food.  For them are opened mysteries closed to more material natures: and their perpetual prayer has wrought for them this at least, that they live above the sufferings and sorrows from which it cannot exempt them, seeing that such are necessary to their development.

Alas!  alas!  we speak of that which is little known.  Were this grand truth better realised, man would live in the atmosphere of the pure and elevated spirits.  His spiritual attitude would drive from him the base and baleful influences which too often beset those who pry unbidden into mysteries that are too high for them and which, alas! beset and annoy even the best at times.  If it prevailed not to obtain exemption, it would provide protection, and do more to strengthen us than all else that man could do.  It would avail more to sanctify the acts, to purify the motives, and to keep alive the reality of spirit communion than anything which we know of.

Pray, then; but see that you pray not with formality , heartlessly, and with unreal supplication.  Commune with us in communion of the spirit.  Keep a single eye to the issues of such communion as respect your own spirit.  The rest will follow in due course.  Leave abstruse and perplexing questions of man’s theological controversy, and keep close to the central truths which so intimately affect the well-being of your spirit.  The vain bewilderments which man has cast around the simplicity of truth are manifold.  Nor is it for you to disentangle them, nor to decide what is or is not essential in that which has hitherto been revealed.  You will learn hereafter to view much that you now regard as vitally essential truth, rather as a passing phase of teaching which was necessary for those to whom it was given.  It is human weakness that impels you to rush to the end.  You must tarry, friend, tarry long yet in the early searchings before you reach the goal.  You have much to unlearn before you can penetrate all mysteries.

We have more to say to you on this.  But for the present enough has been written.  May the Supreme keep us and you, and enable us so to lead and guide you that in the end truth may shine on your darkened soul, and peace may dwell within your spirit.

+ Imperator

“Above and beyond the worlds of conflict and turmoil are the worlds of peace and the worlds of harmony, the worlds of abundance of goodness. That is the true home for all of us. And so when our minds consider that there is a home that is better, that there just has to be something better, in that type of thinking the door begins to open. It is through our acceptance of the possibility of change that we grow and grow more graciously. So let us consider more frequently the possibility of something better. We need not dictate. We need only to accept what is true. Accept the possibility, for that opens horizons that the soul has sought for many centuries.”

This quote is from Volume 6 of The Living Light Dialogue, which is a series of spiritual awareness classes given through mediumship.

The passage "Conquering Your Past" focuses on the importance of healing emotional wounds from past experiences in order to grow and evolve. It argues that our past, stored subconsciously, continues to affect our thoughts, actions, and self-perception, even when we aren't aware of it. In a fast-paced, non-reflective society, we tend to suppress or label these experiences without critically analyzing them. However, to evolve emotionally, we need to confront and reframe our past, viewing it not as a source of pain but as a series of formative milestones that have shaped who we are today.

The process of reframing involves changing our perspective on past events, seeing the challenges as opportunities for growth. This aligns with the author's "Domenico Model of Hierarchy of Needs" (DMHN) which explains how stability and consistency are essential, but sometimes change becomes necessary for self-preservation and personal evolution. By conquering our past and reframing it, we can fulfill deeper needs for stability, growth, and positive change, moving higher up the DMHN.

The piece concludes by encouraging readers to develop the courage and skills necessary to embark on this journey of self-reflection and embrace the positive outcomes of their challenging experiences.

https://youtu.be/nEW-FsTGS4A?si=Gv1ynl309MDSaC3F

Happy Friday! 🙌🏻

With all the astrological activity lately:

-The Mirco New Moon (Oct 2) -The South American “Ring of Fire” Eclipse (Oct 2) -The “Second Moon” aka Asteroid PT5 hitching a ride on Earth’s orbit (Sept 29-Nov 25th. Returning in 2055!) -The 10/10 gateway (astrology Oct 10) -And yesterday’s Super Harvest Moon (10/17)

…There is a lot of energy shifting!

Just wanted to celebrate Friday with this completely unrelated but cute galaxy that looks like a happy face! 🙂

In another sub, I recently posted a series on the experiences of one man after he had passed on. I am reposting it here. His experiences were given through mediumship. In his time on earth, several thousands of years ago, he was a judge. His personal experiences are sometimes called The Journey of the Soul.

Here is the link to part 1:

https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1eih9pe/one_persons_experience_after_they_passed_on_part_1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Here is part 2:

https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1f0763y/one_persons_experience_after_they_passed_on_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Part 3:

https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1f5pslx/one_persons_experience_after_they_passed_on_part_3/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Part 4:

https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1fakn4e/one_persons_experience_after_they_passed_on_part_4/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Part 5:
https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1feebxm/one_persons_experiences_after_they_passed_on_part/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Part 6:

https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1fjwdly/one_persons_experiences_after_they_passed_on_part/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Part 7:

https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1fpgylj/one_persons_experiences_after_they_passed_on_part/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Part 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1fuw50k/one_persons_experiences_after_they_passed_on_part/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Part 9:

https://www.reddit.com/r/spirituality/comments/1fzws7h/one_persons_experiences_after_passing_on_part_9/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

This gave me a good laugh. Have a good day!

A few days ago I posted Chapter 1 and a link to it is below. Here is Chapter 2:

"Dead! Dead!" I wildly cried. "Oh, no, surely no! For the dead feel nothing more; they turn to dust; they moulder to decay, and all is gone, all is lost to them; they have no more consciousness of anything, unless, indeed, my boasted philosophy of life has been all wrong, all false, and the soul of the dead still lives even though the body decays."

The priests of my own church had taught me so, but I had scorned them as fools, blind and knavish, who for their own ends taught that men lived again and could only get to heaven through a gate, of which they held the keys, keys that turned only for gold and at the bidding of those who were paid to say masses for the departed soul — priests who made dupes of silly frightened women and weak-minded men who, yielding to the terror inspired by their awful tales of hell and purgatory, gave themselves, bodies and souls, to purchase the illusive privilege they promised. I would have none of them. My knowledge of these priests and the inner hidden lives of many of them had been too great for me to listen to their idle tales, their empty promises of a pardon they could not give, and I had said I would face death when it came, with the courage of those who know only that for them it must mean total extinction; for if these priests were wrong, who was right? Who could tell us anything of the future, or if there were any God at all? Not the living, for they but theorize and guess, and not the dead, for none came back from them to tell; and now I stood beside this grave — my own grave — and heard my beloved call me dead and strew flowers upon it.

 As I looked the solid mound grew transparent before my eyes and I saw down to the coffin with my own name and the date of my death upon it; and through the coffin I saw the white still form I knew as myself lying within. I saw to my horror that this body had already begun to decay and become a loathsome thing to look upon. Its beauty was gone, its features soon none would recognize; and I stood. there, conscious, looking down upon it and then at myself. I felt each limb, traced out with my hands each familiar feature of my face, and knew I was dead, and yet I lived. If this were death, then those priests must have been right after all. The dead lived — but where? In what state? Was this darkness hell? For me they would have found no other place. I was so lost, so beyond the pale of their church that for me they would not have found a place even in purgatory.

I had cast off all ties to their church. I had so scorned it, deeming that a church which knew of, and yet tolerated, the shameful and ambitious lives of many of its most honored dignitaries had no claim to call itself a spiritual guide for anyone. There were good men in the church; true, but there was also this mass of shameless evil ones whose lives were common talk, common matter of ridicule; yet the church that claimed to be the example to all men and to hold all truth, did not cast out these men of disgraceful lives. No, she advanced them to yet higher posts of honor. None who have lived in my native land and seen the terrible abuses of power in her church will wonder that a nation should rise and seek to cast off such a yoke. Those who can recall the social and political condition of Italy in the earlier half of this century, and the part the church of Rome played in helping the oppressor to rivet the fetters with which she was bound, and who know how her domestic life was honeycombed with spies — priests as well as laymen — till a man feared to whisper his true sentiments to his nearest and dearest lest she should betray him to the priest and he again to the government — how the dungeons were crowded with unhappy men, yea, even with mere lads guilty of no crime save love of their native land and hatred of its oppressors — those, I say, who know all this will not wonder at the fierce indignation and burning passion which smouldered in the breast of Italia's sons, and burst at last into a conflagration which consumed man's faith in God and in his so-called Vicar upon earth, and like a mountain torrent that has burst its bounds, swept away men's hopes of immortality, if only through submission to the decrees of the church it was to be obtained. Such, then, had been my attitude of revolt and scorn towards the church in which I had been baptized, and that church could have no place within her pale for me. If her anathemas could send a soul to hell surely I must be there.

And yet as I thought thus I looked again upon my beloved, and I thought she could never have come to hell even to look for me. She seemed mortal enough, and if she knelt by my grave surely I must be still upon earth. Did the dead then never leave the earth at all, but hover near the scenes of their earthly lives? With such and many similar thoughts crowding through my brain I strove to get nearer to her I so loved, but found I could not. An invisible barrier seemed to surround her and keep me back. I could move on either side of her as I pleased — nearer or farther-but her I could not touch. Vain were all my efforts. Then I spoke; I called to her by name. I told her that I was there; that I was still conscious, still the same, though I was dead; and she never seemed to hear-she never saw me. She still wept sadly and silently; still tenderly touched the flowers, murmuring to herself that I had so loved flowers, surely I would know that she had put them there for me. Again and again I spoke to her as loudly as I could, but she heard me not. She was deaf to my voice. She only moved uneasily and passed her hand over her head as one in a dream, and then slowly and sadly she went away.

I strove with all my might to follow her. In vain. I could go but a few yards from the grave and my earthly body and then I saw why. A chain as of dark silk thread — it seemed no thicker than a spider's web — held me to my body; no power of mine could break it; as I moved it stretched like elastic, but always drew me back again. Worst of all I began now to be conscious of feeling the corruption of that decaying body affecting my spirit, as a limb that has become poisoned affects with suffering the whole body on earth, and a fresh horror filled my soul.

Then a voice as of some majestic being spoke to me in the darkness, and said: "You loved that body more than your soul. Watch it now as it turns to dust and know what it was that you so worshiped, and ministered and clung to. Know how perishable it was, how vile it has become, and look upon your spirit body and see how you have starved and cramped and neglected it for the sake of the enjoyments of the earthly body. Behold how poor and repulsive and deformed your earthly life has made your soul, which is immortal and divine and to endure forever."

And I looked and beheld myself. As in a mirror held up before me, I saw myself. Oh, horror! It was beyond doubt myself, but, oh! so awfully changed, so vile, so full of baseness did I appear; so repulsive in every feature- even my figure was deformed — I shrank back in horror at my appearance, and prayed that the earth might open before my feet and hide me from all eyes for evermore. Ah! never again would I call upon my love, never more desire that she should see me. Better, far better, that she should think of me as dead and gone from her forever; better that she should have only the memory of me as I had been in earthly life than ever know how awful was the change, how horrible a thing was my real self.

Alas! Alas! My despair, my anguish was extreme, and I called out wildly and struck myself and tore my hair in wild and passionate horror of myself, and then my passion exhausted me and I sank senseless and unconscious of all once more.

* * * * * * * * *

Again I waked, and again it was the presence of my love that a waked me. She had brought more flowers and she murmured more soft tender thoughts of me as she laid them on my grave. But I did not seek now to make her see me. No, I shrank back and sought to hide myself, and my heart grew hard even to her, and I said: "Rather let her weep for the one who has gone than know that he still lives,'? so I let her go. And as soon as she was gone, I called frantically to her to come back, to come back in any way, to any knowledge of my awful position, rather than leave me in that place to see her no more. She did not hear, but she felt my call, and afar off I saw her stop and half turn round as though to return, then she passed on again and left me. Twice, three times she came again, and each time when she came I felt the same shrinking from approaching her, and each time when she left I felt the same wild longing to bring her back and keep her near me. But I called to her no more for I knew the dead call in vain, the living hear them not. And to all the world I was dead, and only to myself and to my awful fate was I alive. Ah! now I knew death was no endless sleep, no calm oblivion. Better, far better had it been so, and in my despair I prayed that this total oblivion might be granted to me, and as I prayed I knew it never could, for man is an immortal soul, and for good or evil, weal or woe, lives on eternally. His earthly form decays and turns to dust, but the spirit, which is the true man, knows no decay, no oblivion.

Each day — for I felt that days were passing over me — my mind awoke more and more, and I saw clearer and clearer the events of my life pass in a long procession before me — dim at first, then by degrees growing stronger and clearer, and I bowed my head in anguish, helpless, hopeless anguish, for I felt it must be too late now to undo one single act.

 [End of Chapter 2]

What I find fascinating and perhaps a bit shocking about this story is that the form (the astral form or whatever form it was) of the author was tethered to his decaying physical form. Even though the thought of that is disquieting on many levels, at least for, there is also something in it that rings true. While it may not be the path of everyone, such an experience is entirely possible. Perhaps this is the real reason many religions recommend cremation.

Here is the link to Chapter 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/spiritualism/comments/1fveq58/chapter_1_of_a_wanderer_in_the_spirit_lands_by/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

For those of you who would like to continue reading this book, here is a link to one of the copies on the Internet Archive: https://archive.org/details/isbn_078730333x

I have always enjoyed reading about the experiences that others have had after they have passed on. So, I thought I would share the first experiences of one man. The medium who gave this account identifies himself as a transcriber and signs the text "A. Farnese." So Franchezzo might be the name of the spirit. I don't really know. The book was originally published in 1896. And the language is clearly the language of another time, but quite colorful. Since it's a rather long post, and Chapter 2 is also quite important, I plan to share that in a few days. So, here it is:

PART I

Days of Darkness

CHAPTER I

I have been a Wanderer through a far country, in those lands that have no name — no place — for you of earth, and I would set down as briefly as I can my wanderings, that those whose feet are pointed to that bourn may know what may in their turn await them.

On earth and in my life of earth I lived as those do who seek only how the highest point of self gratification can be reached. If I was not unkind to some — if I was indulgent to those I loved-yet it was ever with the feeling that they in return must minister to my gratification — that from them I might purchase by my gifts and my affection the love and homage which was as my life to me.

I was talented, highly gifted both in mind and person, and from my earliest years the praise of others was ever given to me, and was ever my sweetest incense. No thought ever came to me of that all self-sacrificing love which can sink itself so completely in the love for others that there is no thought, no hope of happiness, but in securing the happiness of the beloved ones. In all my life, and amongst all those women whom I loved (as men of earth too often miscall that which is but a passion too low and base to be dignified by the name of love), amongst all those women who from time to time captivated my fancy, there was not one who ever appealed to my higher nature sufficiently to make me feel this was true love, this the ideal for which in secret I sighed. In everyone I found something to disappoint me. They loved me as I loved them — no more, no less. The passion I gave won but its counterpart from them, and thus I passed on unsatisfied, longing for I knew not what.

Mistakes I made — ah! how many. Sins I committed — not a few; yet the world was often at my feet to praise me and call me good, and noble, and gifted. I was feted — caressed — the spoilt darling of the dames of fashion. I had but to woo to win, and when I won all turned to bitter ashes in my teeth. And then there came a time upon which I shall not dwell, when I made the most fatal mistake of all and spoilt two lives where I had wrecked but one before. It was not a golden flowery wreath of roses that I wore, but a bitter chain-fetters as of iron that galled and bruised me till at last I snapped them asunder and walked forth free. Free? — ah, me! Never again should I be free, for never for one moment can our past errors and mistakes cease to dog our footsteps and clog our wings while we live-aye, and after the life of the body is ended-till one by one we have atoned for them, and thus blotted them from our past.

And then it was — when I deemed myself secure from all love — when I thought I had learned all that love could teach — knew all that woman had to give-that I met one woman. Ah! what shall I call her? She was more than mortal woman in my eyes, and I called her "The Good Angel of My Life," and from the first moment that I knew her I bowed down at her feet and gave her all the love of my soul-of my higher self-a love that was poor and selfish when compared to what it should have been, but it was all I had to give; and I gave it all. For the first time in my life I thought of another more than of myself, and though I could not rise to the pure thoughts, the bright fancies that filled her soul, I thank God I never yielded to the temptation to drag her down to me.

And so time went on — I sunned myself in her sweet presence — I grew in holy thoughts that I deemed had left me for ever — I dreamed sweet dreams in which I was freed from those chains to my past that held me so cruelly, so hardly, now when I sought for better things. And from my dreams I ever woke to the fear that another might win her from me — and to the knowledge that I, alas! had not the right to say one word to hold her back. Ah, me! The bitterness and the suffering of those days! I knew it was myself alone who had built that wall between us. I felt that I was not fit to touch her, soiled as I was in the world's ways. How could I dare to take that innocent, pure life and link it to my own? At times hope would whisper it might be so, but reason said ever, "No!" And though she was so kind, so tender to me that I read the innocent secret of her love, I knew-I felt-that on earth she never would be mine. Her purity and her truth raised between us a barrier I could never pass. I tried to leave her. In vain! As a magnet is drawn to the pole, so was I ever drawn back to her, till at last I struggled no more. I strove only to enjoy the happiness that her presence gave-happy that at least the pleasure and the sunshine of her presence was not denied me.

And then! Ah! then there came for me an awful, an unexpected day, when with no warning, no sign to awaken me to my position, was suddenly snatched from life and plunged into that gulf, that death of the body which awaits us all.

And I knew not that I had died. I passed from some hours of suffering and agony into sleep-deep, dreamless sleep-and when I awoke it was to find myself alone and in total darkness. I could rise; I could move; surely I was better. But where was I? Why this darkness? Why was no light left with me? I arose and groped as one does in a dark room, but I could find no light, hear no sound. There was nothing but the stillness, the darkness of death around me.

Then I thought I would walk forward and find the door. I could move, though slowly and feebly, and I groped on-for how long I know not. It seemed hours, for in my growing horror and dismay I felt I must find some one — some way out of this place; and to my despair I seemed never to find any door, any wall, anything. All seemed space and darkness round me.

Overcome at last, I called out aloud! I shrieked, and no voice answered me. Then again and again I called, and still the silence; still no echo, even from my own voice, came back to cheer me. I bethought me of her I loved, but something made me shrink from uttering her name there. Then I thought of all the friends I had known, and I called on them, but none answered me. Was I in prison? No. A prison has walls and this place had none. Was I mad? Delirious? What? I could feel myself, my body. It was the same. Surely the same? No. '!'here was some change in me. I could not tell what, but I felt as though I was shrunken and deformed? My features, when I passed my hand over them, seemed larger, coarser, distorted surely? Oh, for a light! Oh, for anything to tell me even the worst that could be told! Would no one come? Was I quite alone? And she, my angel of light, oh! where was she? Before my sleep she had been with me — where was she now? Something seemed to snap in my brain and in my throat and I called wildly to her by name, to come to me, if but for once more. I felt a terrible ·sense as if I had lost her, and I called and called to her wildly; and for the first time my voice had a sound and rang back to me through that awful darkness.

Before me, far, far away, came a tiny speck of light like a star that grew and grew and came nearer and nearer till at last it appeared before me as a large ball of light, in shape like a star, and in the star I saw my beloved. Her eyes were closed as of one in sleep, but her arms were held out to me and her gentle voice said in those tones I knew so well, "Oh! my love, my love, where are you now; I cannot see you, I only hear your voice; I only hear you call to me, and my soul answers to yours."

I tried to rush to her, but I could not. Some invisible force held me back, and around her seemed a ring I could not pass through. In an agony I sank to the ground, calling. upon her to leave me no more. Then she seemed to grow unconscious; her head sank upon her breast, and I saw her float away from me as though some strong arms had borne her. l sought to rise and follow her, but could not. It was as if a great chain held me fast, and after some fruitless struggles I sank upon the ground in unconsciousness.

* * * * * * * * *

When I awoke again I was overjoyed to see that my beloved one had returned to me. She was standing near, looking this time as I had seen her on earth, but pale and sad and all dressed in black. The star was gone, and all around was darkness; yet not utter darkness, since around her was a pale, faint glow of light by which I could see she carried flowers-white flowers-in her hands. She stooped over a long low mound of fresh earth. I drew nearer and nearer and saw that she was silently weeping as she laid down the flowers on that low mound. Her voice murmured softly, "Oh, my love! Oh. my love, will you never come back to me? Can you be indeed dead, and gone where my love cannot follow you? Where you can hear my voice no more? My love! Oh, my dear love!"

She was kneeling down now, and I drew near, very near, though I could not touch her, and as I knelt down I, too, looked at that Jong low mound. A shock of horror passed over me, for I knew now, at last, that I was dead and this was my own grave.

Maybe if I post this and more people think on it, it will come true ☀️

Here is a quote from a spiritual awareness class that was given through mediumship on the white light that we are encouraged to follow at the time of transition. The quote begins with a question from a student:

"What is the “white Light” that we have been advised to follow at the time of transition?"

"The white Light referred to many times in our teachings—and also in other philosophies—is the pure intelligent energy from the Source itself. When leaving the form, this white Light appears. In truth, this white Light is ever before us. It is that man rarely views it until he encounters the experience of transition. Now, the reason that man rarely views this eternal white Light, which is the pure, unadulterated, intelligent, divine energy, the reason that he rarely views it until his time of transition is because self-related thoughts are like a dark wall between man and the divine Source or this eternal, white Light.

When you follow this white Light, which is the divine Intelligence expressing itself, you are safe and secure in all that you do at the time of following it. For you are, in following this white Light, in a state of consciousness known as total acceptance. And the divine will, unobstructed by the duality of creation, guides you ever onward, ever upward, through the peace that passeth all understanding."

One of the aspects of Spiritualism that I have found helpful is the insight that it offers regarding transition and what to expect when we leave our physical form. I feel it is wise to prepare for the inevitable.

This quote is from "The Living Light Dialogue, Volume 5", in Consciousness Class 126.

State, Region, City — whatever you are comfortable sharing…

For those who are unfamiliar with "Spirit Teachings," it was first published in 1883. William Moses was a reverend in the Church of England (I think). His mediumship expressed in a rather unusual way: William would write a question on a sheet of paper and his spirit guides would take over his arm and respond to his questions. It is a remarkable book in that you see William's own struggles as he contends with teachings that even he admits are beautiful but in conflict with what he had been taught and believed. If you have not read it, I encourage you do to so.

The quote below is from Section XII and it begins with a comment from William:

"[I am reluctant to publish what is so private in its nature and bearings: but I am constrained to do so, and my justification is that what was the experience of one may be the experience of many, and the history of my mental and spiritual struggles may be helpful to others who are passing through a similar phase. After an interval of some days, during which I received no communication on the subject of the religious teaching of spirits, I requested permission to state further objections which pressed strongly on my mind. As I recall my state, I was perplexed and startled by what had been said. I was unable to accept what was so new; and the great point that weighed with me was that of “Spirit Identity.” It seemed in my then state that I must have complete proof of the earth identity of the communicating spirit before I could accept the statements made. I believed such direct demonstration to be procurable; and I was distressed that it was not given I did not know then (July, 1873) as I do now that the evidence of conviction is what alone is to be had; and that no cut-and-dried plan such as I propounded would really have carried with it the conviction I imagined. Moreover, I was distressed by the feeling that much that passed current for spirit communication was silly and frivolous, if not mischievous. I compared the teaching of the Christian moralists with spirit teaching very much to the disadvantage of the latter. I also considered that there was very wide divergence between teachings given by spirits, and that all sorts of opinions were professed. Most of these I disliked personally, and I did not believe that they benefited the people who received them. I fancied that many such were enthusiasts and fanatics, and was repelled by the idea. Neither from internal nor external evidence was I greatly attracted, and the objections that I put at that time were directed to the points above noticed. They related principally to evidence about identity, to what I thought would be the probable dealings of God with mankind, and to the general character and outcome of Spiritualism. The next answer made to me was as follows:—]"

Here is part of the response of his spirit guides:

"... We have frequently said that God reveals Himself as man can bear it. It must needs be so. He is revealed through a human medium, and can only be made known in such measure as the medium can receive the communication. It is impossible that knowledge of God should outstrip man’s capacity. Were we now to tell you—if we could—of our more perfect theology it would seem to you strange and unintelligible. We shall, by slow degrees, instil into your mind so much of truth as you can receive, and then you will see your present errors. But that is not yet. Indeed, since the conception which each frames for himself is to him his God, it cannot be that revelation can be in advance of capacity. It is in the nature of things impossible.

Hence you see that when you credit God with motives and say, “This cannot be. God is acting here contrary to His nature. He cannot so act now, because He did not so act then,” you are simply saying, “My idea of God is so and so, and I cannot at present get another one. According to what I believe, my God would not do so.” And that is precisely what we say. You have made your God, and you have made Him act as you see fit. By and by, as your mind expands—either in your present state of being or in another—you will get fresh light, and then you will say, “Now I see that I was wrong. God is not what I fancied at all. How could I ever have entertained such notions!”

This is very much the case with all progressive minds. To some the time of development comes not in this life. They must wait for a newer light in a newer life. But to some there comes a flood of knowledge even in their present place of existence. The old grows flat and profitless. The soul craves for a newer and truer revelation; for something which shall be as the spirit among the dry bones, and shall give them a resurrection unto life.

Well, you have had, or you are having, your revelation. Your mind, as some would say, has widened, and has pictured a God more in accordance with its advanced capacities.

You have received from an eternal source—the same whence all other Divine knowledge flows down to man—a newer and richer revealing of the Supreme, others may say.

Call it what you will. The two operations of revelation and comprehension, of knowledge and capacity, must be correlative. The knowledge does not come until there is capacity to receive it. Neither does the mind get higher revelation until is has so far advanced as to feel the want of it; and that for the simple reason that it is itself the agent through which comes the revelation of which it is the recipient.

All your fancied theories about God have filtered down to you through human channels; the embodiments of human cravings after knowledge of Him; the creation of minds that were undeveloped, whose wants were not your wants, whose God, or rather whose notions about God are not yours. You try hard to make the ideas fit in, but they will not fit in, because they are the produce of divers intelligences in divers degrees of development.

Think! You say to us that we are not of God, because our ideas of Him made known to you are not compatible with some notions which you have derived from certain of the books in your sacred records. Tell us which is the God with whom we are at variance in our ideal. Is it the God who walked in human form with Adam, and is fabled to have wreaked direful vengeance on the ignorant creatures who are said to have committed what you now see to be a very venial fault? Or, is it the God who commanded His faithful friend to sacrifice to Him the only child of his love as an acceptable offering? Or is it the God who reigned over Israel as an earthly monarch, and whose care was feigned to be devoted to the enunciation of sanitary laws, or to the construction of a tabernacle, who went forth with the armies of Israel to battle, and issued bloodthirsty laws and regulations for the extirpation of innocent and unoffending peoples? Or is it, perchance, the God who enabled His servant Joshua to arrest the course of the universe and to paralyse the solar system, in order that the Israelites might revel a few hours more in gore and carnage? Or is it rather with the God who feigned to be so angry with His chosen people because they wished for a visible monarch, that He visited upon them an elaborate revenge extending over many hundred of years? Or with which of the Gods of the prophets are we at variance? with Isaiah’s God, or with Ezekiel’s? or with the lugubrious Deity that Jeremiah’s morbid mind imagined? or with David’s Divinity—half father, half tyrant, cruel and yielding by turns, always inconsistent and irrational? or with Joel’s? or with John’s? or with Paul’s Calvinistic conception, imagined and painted with horrid phantasies of predestination, and hell, and election, and a dreamy, listless heaven? Are we at variance with Paul, or John, or Jesus?

But there is no need to press the fact that revelation has always been proportioned to man’s capacity, and coloured by man’s mind. The idea of God has been throughout the ages the conception, more or less vivid, of those who have been the media of revelation. The implanted idea has taken form and shape from the mental surroundings of the medium through whom it was given. Such portion of truth as the teachers have been able to impart has been moulded by the spirit of the medium into an individual shape. To none has complete truth be given, only so much of truth, such aspect of truth, as was necessary for a particular age and people. Hence it is that the conceptions of God, such as those we have now alluded to, are various and divergent. Of course, we and our God are not Joshua and his God: neither are we Paul and his God: though we challenge comparison between the God we know and reveal, and that God who was dimly shadowed forth to a people that knew Him not, by Him who knew Him best, and lived nearest to Him, the man Christ Jesus. He had received conceptions of Deity far clearer than any which His followers have grasped; His religion was simple, plain, and earnest. His theology was equally plain. The cry to “Our Father who art in Heaven,” how widely does it differ from the elaborate dissertions on theology in which the Supreme is first informed of the character which man has assigned Him, and then is requested to act up to it with especial reference to the wants or fancied wants which the ignorant worshipper puts forward!"