This is another book that was given through mediumship, but I don't know anything about the medium, Anita Silvani. Ahrinziman lived on earth around 400 BC, during the the Persian and Greek wars. He was a very gifted medium, although I am not certain that is the correct word to describe his abilities. Although much of the book concerns his life on earth, the majority of the text is about his life after he passed on. It's a remarkable book in many ways.

For those who are interested in the complete text, here is a link to the book on the Internet Archive: https://archive.org/details/strangestoryofah00silvrich

THE STORY OF AHRINZIMAN

PART I

PROLOGUE

When El Jazid, King of Persia, returned from a successful campaign against the Greeks, he brought with him a captive maiden of the most surpassing beauty and the most exquisite grace and charm, a captive destined to reign over the heart of the mighty monarch as its sole queen, and to cause the powerful king to bow before the potent sway of love as her most abject slave.

And yet this maiden was gentle and timid as a wild fawn, and ignorant of all artifice as a little child.

In the devastating march of the Persian conqueror a splendid Temple of the Greeks had been plundered, its priests slain and its vestals carried off to become the prey of their conquerors.

Among the captives brought before El Jazid to see if perchance there were any who would find favor in his eyes, there were none so beautiful as Cynthia, the daughter of Archelaus, a maiden of barely fifteen years of age, who had from her infancy been dedicated to the service of the Gods. Like a child she had lived within the temple walls, ignorant of all things beyond them; ignorant alike of the passions which stir the hearts of men, of the joys unspeakable, the woes unfathomable that spring from their loves and their hates, their ambitions and their pride; ignorant of all the tender joys of relationship, and of the varied hopes and fears which fill the hearts of those who dwell amidst the whirlpool of life, and learn in the struggle for existence the force of the latent powers within the soul.

Cynthia was terrified like a child at being brought before the monster who had slain or taken captive all those among whom her brief life had been spent, and yet she was without that fear of death which inspired the terror of her companions for she had lived all her life with the Dead, she had held communion with them as with near and dear friends, and thus the word "Death" had no meaning of fear for her. But she felt bewildered and full of dread of this unknown and powerful being who inspired grief and fear in all around her.

And when the eyes of the king beheld how fair she was, and when he felt the strange thrill of love and admiration which the sight of her beauty inspired, he bade all others to. depart that he might speak alone with this beauteous maid. And as Cynthia raised her soft dark eyes to the King's face to read therein her fate, she felt neither fear nor terror, but only a sense of wonder, and a dim consciousness that her heart was stirred by an emotion unknown before.

When all had left the king's presence but the lovely Greek, he arose from his throne of state, and, approaching his captive, took her hand and gazed into her calm, childlike eyes; and as he did so he felt abased at the thought of the fate he had at first destined for her, and ashamed at the baseness of his own_ desires. Involuntarily the haughty conqueror knelt at the feet of this young maiden and kissed, like a humble slave, the hem of her robe and the soft white fingers of her fair hand.

At the touch of his lips the soul of the woman awoke in Cynthia, and the days of her childhood were forever past. She tasted of the first fruits of the tree of knowledge, and felt for the first time a shadowy sense of the power which love can exercise over the hearts of women and of men, for in her heart there was the first throb of that awakening love which was to make for her and for the king the reality and the tragedy of their lives. The days of her dreaming were over. From henceforth, she was to live the real life of Earth, and to descend from those mystic mountains of the Soul whereon she had communed only with the Past; she was to live henceforth on the lower plane of life, the true existence of the Present.

And for El Jazid also, a new era had begun: he, too, was to learn how all-powerful can the sway of love as distinguished from mere passion; how even ambition and the love of. conquest could sink into secondary things and be as feather-weights in the balance. He who had treated all women as playthings with which to amuse the idle hours, learned to hang upon every word; every look, of his lovely captive, and to obey her every wish. When he was exiled from her presence he was restless and unhappy until he could return to her again. He assigned to her the most gorgeous tent, the most luxurious litter to travel in, slaves and attendants innumerable, who were bidden to study her every wish as though she had been the Queen herself. And for it all he exacted no favors save such as she willingly gave.

And Cynthia herself, when the first wonder at the strangeness had passed, gave back to the king a love as deep and: tender as his own; yea, even more tender, for to the innocent affection of a child she joined the infinite tenderness of a woman. In her pure soul ignorant of all passions, the king’s love awakened a mingled feeling of gratitude and love, which showed itself in an anxious desire to please him in all things; and, with the unerring instinct of affection, she learned a thousand ways in which to touch his heart, so that ere long, had she but chosen, she could have become the most powerful person at his court.

El Jazid's first idea had been to marry Cynthia and raise her to the position of his second queen, but reflection caused him to abandon that idea as endangering, it might be; her very existence. For the king had a queen already: a beautiful, haughty princess, the daughter of one of his most ·powerful neighbors and richest ally, and a woman whom he knew would brook no rival in his affections or sharer of his throne, and he felt that Cynthia's life would be a brief one did Queen Artemsia know of his infatuation for her._ Had Cynthia herself desired to become the acknowledged wife of the king, her influence over him was so great that there is little doubt he would have braved even the anger of his proud queen and the enmity of her haughty family to make her so, but she was innocent and ignorant as a child of the world's standards of rank and honor: ambition and power had no meaning for her, and she had no sense of the inferior position she held as simply an acknowledged favorite of the king.

Within the temple walls Cynthia had seen none save those few attendants who waited upon her and the aged priests under who instructions she had grown up. She regarded the king as a wise .and powerful being, whose ability to make all around him bow to his will gave him a position to that which she had associated with the idea of God. Her ignorance of the true relations of men on Earth towards each other was as great as was her power of seeing and describing the beauties of the far-off spirit spheres, and she never thought of resisting or questioning any wish of the man whose devotion had won her heart and whose power had subjugated her mind. Of herself she never thought, because all self had been so steadily repressed and so thoroughly neutralized that she had become but the pliant echo of the thoughts of others that were transmitted through her. Her own individuality had been so early and so, long re­ pressed that she had lost the power of thinking, either for or of herself. Placed in the temple in her infancy, she had remained almost an infant in heart and mind.

To El Jazid, accustomed to the intrigues and self-seeking ambitions which tainted the atmosphere of a court, the strange, dreamy innocence of the young Greek came as a rest and a relief. Her arms were a refuge to which he could escape when the cares of state and the incessant intriguing among those who sought to raise themselves in his favor became a burden and a weariness. From Cynthia he heard of none of these things, but she would tell him wondrous stories of her Dream World, and the beautiful visions she had seen, the bright and glorious beings with whom she had held converse, and would paint with playful childish pleasure the future she imagined for them both when the ties of Earth should no longer chain their souls.

In yielding to the king's love she had in a measure descended to his level and taken upon her the conditions of his life, so that she no longer beheld the glories of the higher spheres. Their gates were closed to her, but she still possessed the power of fore­ seeing things which lay near the Earth, and although her ab­ sorption in the happiness which filled her life made her in a measure blind even to these things, she was yet able to relate to the king much concerning himself, and to warn him of more than one threatened disaster.

Thus between a dream life and a life of active reality did the king and Cynthia spend the first few. months of their strange union. El Jazid lingered afar from his kingdom, although the necessities of conquest no longer constrained him to do so, and was loath to returneth his palace _at Agbatana and to the queen, whose jealous eyes he feared might discover his secret attachment.

He was, however, soon aroused from his dreaming. A messenger arrived one day, travel stained and exhausted with his riding, bearing to the king the announcement that the Queen had borne him a son, an heir to the throne, and that she bade him leave all else and hasten to her side.

With mingled feelings of joy and apprehension the king read the letter. This event, which had been hoped for in vain for several years, and which would once have filled him with the greatest joy and pride, quickening anew all his love for the mother of his child, was no longer the greatest desire of his ambition, and awakened no feelings towards the Queen but one of regret that her son must ever come in succession before any which his beloved Cynthia, the true queen of his heart, might bear him. The letter also, couched in terms of the fondest affection, read like a reproach from one whose love he had well nigh forgotten. Return to the Queen he must, but ere doing so it was necessary that he should provide for the safety of Cynthia, and for her rejoining him as soon as possible.

In this emergency he bethought him of his chief commander, Ben al Zulid, a man of noble and intrepid character, upon whose fidelity he knew he could rely even in so difficult and delicate a matter. After a short conference between them it was agreed that the safest thing was for the king to appear to bestow the beautiful Cynthia upon his favorite general, together with a small palace which closely adjoined the king's own apartments in his palace at Parsagherd, and which might almost have been considered to form part of its outer buildings. Between the king's apartments and this small palace it was resolved to construct a secret passage underground, with two hidden doors, one at either end, and the method of opening which was to be known to the king alone. Al Zulid was commissioned to bring a cunning artificer from Hindustan, at that time much celebrated for such kinds of workmanship, to construct the passage and the spring by which the doors should be made to open and close. Meanwhile, Cynthia was to be taken care of by Al Zulid, and treated by him with as much respect as though she was in reality the queen: neither he nor any of his household were to see her, the attendants given to her by the king, upon whose fidelity he could rely, being alone allowed to wait upon her.

In return for these services the King bestowed upon Al Zulid much treasure, and raised him to a still higher position of honor than he already occupied.

This agreement Ben Al Zulid kept with the most scrupulous exactness, and a delicate regard, not alone for the position and welfare of the beautiful Cynthia herself, but also for the best interests of the King.

Having thus confided the care of his Beloved to his friend the King made all haste to return to the Palace at Agbatana, where his impatient and proud Queen awaited him.

Had beauty been sufficient to win and hold the King's heart, then surely had he remained captive to the charms of the fair Artemisia, for she was one of the most beautiful of women. Nature had lavished upon her intellect and beauty, its fairest gifts. Of commanding stature yet slender form, her supple, perfectly rounded limbs might have formed the model for a sculptor, while the finely cut features, the lustrous dark eyes, the perfectly arched eyebrows, the clear pallor of the skin, the full exquisitely moulded red lips, were rendered yet more beautiful, and more alluring to the eyes of most men by the air of haughty pride and queenly dignity which pervaded their expression. The sensuous droop of the full lidded eyes, the gleam of anger which at slight pro­ vocation shot from them, the full strong chin and jaw, with the quick tightening of the shapely mouth when roused to anger, would all have been signs of temper unheeded by most men, or else would only have served as incentives to them, to try whether they could not conquer the heart of this proud beauty, and make those haughty lips whisper fond words for their ears alone, and those dark eyes brighten at their approach. Thus had it once been with El Jazid. Artemisia had roused his passions and charmed his senses and allured his lower Soul, but her beauty had been powerless to awaken the love of his higher self, the purer and truer love she had been unable to win; Cynthia, and Cynthia alone, could do that, and at her touch the lower, coarser love of the King for Artemisia had melted like a castle of cloud and mist before the glowing beams of the noon-day sun. Thus when El Jazid reached Agbatana, and beheld again the wondrous sensual beauty of his haughty Queen, the mother now of his child, it awoke but a faint echo of the old passion, a feeble return of the old warmth. And though his words were as tender, and full of affection as of old, his phrases as complimentary, his attentions as carefully studied, the heart of the proud, passionate woman, hungering for love and thirsting for devotion, detected at once, the hollowness of his set phrases, the emptiness of his honeyed words, his formal caresses, the artificiality of his endearments, and in vehement anger and disappointment refused to be satisfied with the pretence of a love which her woman's instinct told her she had somehow lost.

To El Jazid, she said nothing to show that she perceived any difference in his manner, but she sought to win back from the returned husband, the devotion of the lover who had left her less than a year _before. She used every art of which she was mistress, and used them in vain, and she felt it was no longer possible for her to keep his love, since between their hearts some barrier had risen which no attentions on the King's part could hide.

And still, while he remained with her she made no sign, dissembling with oriental caution the anger that she felt; but when, after a brief stay, and with a slender, ill-acted show of regret, for El Jazid was but a poor dissembler, he had left her again, declaring that he must return to his army, the anger of the slighted woman broke forth in a violent storm of rage, and she felt a fierce thirst for vengeance upon the woman who had stolen from her the King's heart, and usurped that first place in his thoughts which belonged by right to his Queen alone.

She felt certain that there was some woman; nothing else could have so changed the King's manner to her, and she was seized with a wild determination to learn who this unknown beauty could be, and to behold one whose charms had proved more potent than her own, strong enough to draw El Jazid from the side of the Princess, who had distinguished him above her many suitors and conferred upon him the honor of becoming the husband of the proud Artemisia. Wounded· love struggled in her heart with wounded pride, and from the conflict was born a hatred as deep and all-absorbing as the love had been.

When the first burst of passion was over Artemisia, with the craft of her oriental nature, resolved to conceal her suspicions from El Jazid, and to act towards him as before, in order that she might better accomplish her revenge upon him and his new favorite. She set spies to follow the King, and report to her his every movement, and it was not long ere she learned of the existence of Cynthia, and of the devotion El Jazid had shown to her, although so quietly had she been taken away by Al Zulid, and so effectually had he hidden her, that no trace of her whereabouts could be found. None knew what had become of her, nor by whom she had been taken away. The King's own visits to Cynthia being now made with the utmost secrecy and caution, the spies of Queen Artemisia were for a time completely baffled.

Meanwhile, the making of the secret passage between the two Palaces at Parsagherd was being rapidly hurried forward. The Hindoo artificer, whom the King's large bribe had tempted from his own country, was assisted in his work by a clever, black slave only. The care taken in making the passage was so great that all the workmen were brought from a great distance and carefully prevented from holding any communication with per­ sons employed in the Palace itself. When the work was at length completed, these foreign workmen and the Hindoo artisan were carefully escorted back to their own country, the poor black slave, alone, being left behind. This unfortunate man, belonging to the city of Agbatana, and being employed about the Palace, it occurred to the King that the safest thing to do was to put him to death, lest at any time he should be tempted to betray the secret of the passage, and orders were therefore sent for his execution, the life of one poor slave being but a father's weight in the balance compared to the preservation of an Emperor's secret.

When all was at last completed, Al Zulid installed himself and his household in the house assigned to him, and then brought Cynthia safely to the part of it which had been prepared for her, and which was surrounded by high walls, and everything which it was thought could serve for her protection. Shortly after this, the court was moved to Parsagherd, and the King was once more able to visit his beloved freely, and, as he believed, unsuspected.

To the Queen, he maintained always the same scrupulously careful show of devotion, and so well did Artemisia act her part, so carefully did she dissemble her wrath, that El Jazid imagined his secret was in no immediate danger of discovery, and gave him­ self up to the unrestrained enjoyment of Cynthia's society, scarce observing as he otherwise might have done, the smouldering fire which gleamed in the eyes of Artemisia, when he pleaded the cares of state as a reason why he could not devote more of his time to her.

Yet not so easily was the death of even a poor slave to pass over unavenged. It was but a seed, and a small one, in that harvest field of sorrow which was to surround poor Cynthia. Yet that seed became a Upas tree whose branches were to blight at their source the well-spring of hope and love and maternal tenderness which had sprung up amidst the cramped and blighted affections of a heart which had been denied all the natural ties of earthly kindred, all interests which might have abstracted her thoughts from the contemplation of Heavenly things. The tender joys, the soft sweet holy thoughts, of expectant motherhood, were awakening in Cynthia's Soul, and with a trembling, half fear half hope, she looked forward to the unfolding of a tiny life within her own, the blossoming into life of a little emblem of their love; hopes which gave a new soft light to her eyes and imparted a new meaning to her love for El J azid.

One evening as the sun was setting and the twilight shadows were gathering over the valley that lay below, Cynthia and El Jazid were seated together upon a low divan; and her head rested upon his shoulder in the sweet abandonment of happy love; her long dark hair hung loose upon her shoulders and as the King caressed it with loving touch he spoke to her of those new hopes which filled with happiness both their Souls.

Suddenly Cynthia whose dreamy eyes had been gazing into El Jazid's turned her head towards the hangings in the corner of the room where was the secret door, and with a fixed stony look of fear, such as one sees in a bird which is fascinated by a snake, she seemed to be following the passage of something or someone along the wall. Then clutching the King's arm, with a low cry and an almost frenzied expression of terror, she exclaimed, "Oh look! look! It is that black shadow of a man again! He is creeping, creeping, towards us, with the most awful look of hatred in his eyes!·He fixes them upon me, and I feel as though I could not move, could not escape from him! Oh! save me from him! Save me from him!" and with a cry she fell insensible into El Jazid's arms.

In vain did the King, thoroughly alarmed lest it should be some spy who had found the secret of the passage, search the hangings, the walls, everything. He could see nothing to account for her alarm, no means by which anyone could have entered, and though he had followed the direction of Cynthia's eyes and seen where she had pointed he could see nothing to explain the fright. The secret spring was intact, the door fast closed, yet Cynthia had seemed to sec the figure come from there. Where it had gone was a mystery, yet El Jazid had too great a belief in her power of beholding unseen things to doubt that she had truly seen something, and its invisibility to his own eyes greatly added to his superstitious apprehensions.

To revive and to soothe Cynthia was his first care. He dare not call any of her attendants as he did not wish his presence there suspected, and it was some time before she was sufficiently restored to calmness to allow him to leave her. When he did so it was nearly dark, and in order to see is way through the passage he lighted a small lamp.

He had almost reached the door leading into his own apartments when by the feeble light of his lamp he saw a black shadow in front of him, resembling the crouching figure of a man. To draw his dagger and to stab at it was the work of a moment, for only some meditated treachery could cause anyone to have followed him into this passage. To his surprise the weapon, and also his hand and arm, went through the figure, and at the same moment his lamp seemed to be extinguished by a blast of cold air; as it went out he saw the figure roll over and then rise and, as it seemed, envelope him like a cloak, and it required all his efforts of strong will and undaunted courage to free himself from the nameless, shapeless thing which he now knew to be nothing earthly, and as he thrust it from him with all his force it seemed to vanish with a wild unearthly cry of rage.

Convinced that the being he had encountered was some evil genie, El Jazid consulted the court astrologers and wise men, and also the Priests at to what could be done to protect himself and, what was still more important, his beloved Cynthia from the approaches of this horrible thing.

The advice he got was to the effect that this being evidently a Spirit of darkness, one of the devils of Ahriman, it would be desirable that El Jazid should at once set forth upon a pilgrimage to the Temple of Baku, and bring back from there a vessel lighted by the sacred fire which arises from the earth and burns there continually. This would combat the evil power of Ahriman, and draw down to his aid the good Angels of ORMUZD, and thus would the sacred fire possess a double efficacy for keeping at bay all the ghouls and genii of the dark kingdom.

From Cynthia the King parted with the utmost reluctance. Only the assurance of the Priests that it was needful that he him­ self should go, and in his own person pay homage at the sacred altar, would have induced him to leave her at such a time and under such circumstances. To Ben Al Zulid he confided her, with the oft repeated warnings to guard the secret door and above every­ thing to keep a special lamp containing the sacred fire ever burning in the room, and station fresh guards round her apartments.

Cynthia herself was most unwilling to allow the King to leave her. She was filled with the most anxious fears, the most terrible apprehensions, and dreaded to lose sight of him even for a few hours. Still her belief in the advice of the Priests at last overcame her fears, and with much emotion Cynthia and the King parted.

For some days nothing occurred to justify Cynthia's fears, and Al Zulid watched over her safety with a care and devotion only second to that of the King himself, so that she grew gradually ashamed of her fears and more confident, and began to amuse herself picturing El Jazid's return.

Thus the time passed, and it was calculated that the King must already be well advanced upon his homeward way, when one evening as Cynthia lay upon her cushions, wearied out with anxious watching for him, she fell asleep.

She had slept but a short time, and was alone for a few moment the attendant having but just left the room, when the hangings ·before the secret door wen drawn aside by a hand, a real living hand, a woman's firm while shapely hand bejewelled with many rings, and the Queen herself stepped into the room. Drawing near to the couch of the sleeping girl she stood looking upon the rival who had stolen from her the King's love. Cruel hatred gleamed in her eyes, and her white hands were clenched in a fierce desire to clutch the fair white throat of the beautiful girl and strangle her. Yes! this girl was beautiful. Perfect in all respects as was she herself, and with a subtle charm in her beauty which the powerful Queen could never hope to rival. Instinctively she felt the source of Cynthia's. power over El Jazid, and she ground her teeth in silent rage as she drew a step nearer to the couch, at the same time making a sign with her hand to a slave who was behind her.

Perhaps it was the proximity of her foe that awakened her, or it might be that her Guardian Angel sought to save her even then; be it as it may, Cynthia woke with a scream of terror and sprang from the cushions, uttering sharp cries for help as the slave sprung upon her and plunged his cruel dagger into her shoulder and white throat ere the affrighted attendant could rush to her aid; the slave himself being almost cut to pieces by, those who hurried into the room. The Queen, leaving her minion to his fate, had retired into the secret passage and closed the door, and there was therefore nothing to show how or by what means the murderer had entered.

In truth Artemisia had been for many days and weeks trying _to discover by what secret means the King visited her rival, for that she was somewhere near and that he saw her daily Artemisia convinced. She learned that Al Zulid possessed a very beautiful and mysterious inmate of his seraglio, and guessed that his house might well be chosen as the asylum for El Jazid's favorite. With a woman's capacity for receiving and profiting by impressions and ill-defined and apparently groundless suspicions, she had become convinced that there must be some secret passage somewhere, and aided by the vengeful Spirit of the murdered slave she had spent the time of El Jazid's absence in searching for it, and, still guided by the Spirit of the man whose knowledge of its secret had cost his him life, had at last, that very day, found it.

It was this Spirit whom Cynthia had seen, and whom El Jazid had encountered hovering around the cause of his untimely end, and who had led the Queen to seek her rival's room at a moment when she was alone and unprotected.

Thus did the first seeds bear their fruits, and send forth shoots to poison yet other lives.

* * * * *

Cynthia was not dead, although fatally wounded, and Al Zulid sent in all haste to hurry the King, hoping that haply he might still be in time to receive her last breath.

She lay almost unconscious, but it seemed as though she could not die till her beloved came.

As day dawned the attendants saw the end was drawing near. The grey shadows of death were gathering fast upon her fair face; her eyes were glazing, and all seemed almost over, when the King, covered with the foam from his horse and the mire from the roads, haggard and distracted with grief, arrived at last. At his touch Cynthia's eyes opened once again; her white lips tried to utter his name, and her dying hand to clasp his, but even as they did so the silver cord was loosed, and the Soul of the gentle, murdered Cynthia sank to rest.

* * * * *

And in the hour my mother died, I, Ahrinziman, was born. The moment of her death was also the moment of my entrance into life.

Not amidst joyous congratulations and happy hopes fulfilled was I ushered into life, but amidst bitter tears and wailings of grief; amidst anger, revenge, and strife. War and murder and jealousy had shadowed me before my birth, and the Star of my destiny arose upon the horizon of Earth tinged with the blood red rays of the Fiery Star.

Sorry its long: About 30+ years ago i had a very intense dream that i can remember every detail of. In the dream, i was shopping at a big store in the mall. I started to feel like i was being watched and when i looked up i saw at least 3 people staring at me very intently-I hate to be starred at in real life, so i turn around to leave and i see an elevator right there and get on. Next thing i know it turns into this really nice elevator with dark red crushed velvet on the walls with gold trim and purple incense burning; the smoke was even purple. I look next to me and Jesus is standing to my left and he is smiling at me. I can feel we are going up. Then we exit the elevator onto a piece of land about an acre and a half wide floating in the sky. But on it is a street surronded by grass on either side. We start to take a walk and he's talking to me and showing me parts of what i now know is was my life.

First thing i see is a band playing music and its clear im at a festival. The band was The Eurythmics and their singing "Sweet Dreams are made if this." I never really liked them and couldn't understand the significance until years later. It was just as simple as the name of the song...duh me. Then i see Jesus's eyes and he's looking at me very intently and then both eyes form into one and it gets bigger as its coming towards me fast and then just stops right in front of my face but at forhead level. I get freaked out by it and it stopped. I now think it was him trying to hint towards my 3rd eye. Then he walks with me a little further and then leaves and lets me go the rest of the way by myself. I see one of my step sisters and i had a deep urge to tell her i loved her and did. In real life we were never that close, but always got along, so i didn't get the significance until years later when she tried to kill herself. I wish now i had told her sooner, but i did afterwards. Then i see my mom and she's standing there just smiling at me and then turns and walks into this big fire and either disappears or dies. She seemed so happy to do it. I never heard her scream or anything, but im screaming at her not to do it but she did anyways and I was crying afterwards. I was so confused and kinda horrified. I have read that fire is a spiritual cleansing thing or eternal death. I chose to believe the first one because of who she is. Then i see kids about 1000 ft away across the street playing soccer in a feild and a man, with his back towards me. I now know that it was the back of my future father in law. They were really into soccer and my ex husband and all of his siblings had to play growing up, so that also makes sense to me now and he looked like the guy in my dream. Same build, hair color and style of clothing. And he and my MIL turned their backs on us throughout my marriage to their idiot son. Then i saw a joker balancing on top of these three silver, metal, large rings juggling three small balls in the air. I now think that symbolized my son. He was the class clown growing up and has the best sense of humor and can be quite mischievous. And my husband and i chose silver rings to wear instead of gold as our wedding bands.

Finally i come to the end of the road and i look down and see a long golden line in front of me on the ground going all the way down to the right and left of me. I sensed it went on forever. It was fairly thick and cylinder and it had a very intense energy to it, but not dangerous. Every time i tried to step across it would immediately shoot me right back to where i was standing. I picked it up and it just fell right back into place and reformed back into a straight line. I must have gotten sent back hundreds and hundreds of times and i just kept trying to cross anyways. I Had to get to the other side of it more than anything i've ever wanted and i was getting so frustrated and even cried and almost gave up at one point. I have read that the Golden Thread in a religious context means Gods connection to us and all living things. Finally i was allowed to cross over it and i walked onto a completely different scenery. Everything, and i mean everything was gone. I was standing on earth now (like our planet), and it was just dark brown, large mounds of dirt, as if everthing had been burnt right off the planet. So i walked a little higher and i saw only a few other people scattered around me and we all had a tool of some sort in our hands, mine was a rake. I felt a deep sadness and could also feel the other peoples deep sadness. I knew we had all lost people we loved. I could tell there were others of us out there that we would meet eventually, but maybe only like10% of the people on earth were left. Everyone and everything else on the planet was gone! We were there to rebuild the planet and start all over again is what i think it means, or build a new life? If anyone else has any other ideas or thoughts about any part of the dream, let me know.

Also I am a Christian, but a very liberal one. I believe everyone has a right to believe in whatever they want and be whomever they want, as long as they arent hurting anyone else. I dont know what exactly what God is, but i believe he is the one creator of everything and we are beings of energy...light, like him. I try to meditate and have always loved everyone no matter what color, culture, sex or religion they were.

I know I had a spiritual awakening almost two years ago. It was the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me other than having my son. I felt this immense love and enlightenment come over me one night and it continued for a few weeks. I just kept figuring things out and all of these pieces of my life added up in my mind, like a puzzle coming together. I felt immese kindness towards others and the earth seemed alive and i now believe she is. I have always loved nature, but now more than ever i want to protect her. I instantly knew we riencarnate and i wasnt sure about that before. Ever since, all i can do is worry about our planet and everyones futures and especially homeless and hungry people. I have always cared for others, but now its way more intense and i find it very hard to even focus on my own life now. Some days i just want to go give everyone on the planet a big hug and tell them i love them and then other days i want to strangle everyone because their such idiots and assholes and im tired of them ruining things for the rest of us. Or scream at the top of my lungs STOP THE INSANITY AND JUST LOVE ONE ANOTHER ALREADY! I feel like i need to be doing way more for others and our planet, but i struggle financially and have depression at times and its just so hard to help when you can barely help yourself. I dont know what it is im supposed to be doing?...What i do know is no matter how many struggles i have and all the trauma i have experienced in my 56 years, i will continue to be kind towards others. Its all i have to give and its the right thing to do. And i will always try to learn, grow and change into a better version of myself for as long as im allowed to. Anyways, Thanks for reading this! ☯️🙏🧘‍♀️❤🌎☮

"Many people interested in this philosophy of Spiritualism seem to think that all those who are interested in it are interested in order to become either a medium or a healer or a lecturer or something of that nature. And, of course, we know that is not the purpose, the true purpose, of this philosophy or of this class. We are not the ones to decide with our conscious mind whether or not our natural evolutionary soul talent is to be a medium, a healer, a musician, an artist, or a carpenter. But if we will free our own mind from the interest and concern of what our natural soul spiritual talent really is, then we will indeed unfold it.

When we strive to express our so-called spiritual talents and we use the vehicle of our mind, which is a mental vehicle, to reach decisions whether or not our true talent is unfolding to the satisfaction of our mind, what we, in truth, are doing is building a mental wall in front of the spiritual work that we truly have to do. Therefore, my friends, we have taught and we continue to teach, Seek not the gifts of the spirit, but seek the spirit itself—the spirit of truth, the spirit of freedom, the spirit of divine, eternal love. When you seek the spirit, in and of itself, first, then you will be freed from the concerns of your mind whether or not your so-called spiritual work is satisfactory.

You see, my friends, if the work that we are doing truly is spiritual, then there is no need for concern or interest whether or not it is satisfactory. Because, you see, the mind cannot, in truth, decide whether or not God’s work, the divine work, is the best. That decision, my friends, does not lie within the power or the right of the so-called human conscious mind.

So in our unfolding processes, let us not be concerned with how much we are doing, how great we are, or how small we are. Because that type of thinking, my friends, defeats the purpose of our own soul and of our own spirit. Many times we have stated, “Give what you have to give and care less what is done with it.” For the minds of men are very fickle, and one moment to the human mind, something is great and beneficial and in the very next moment, it is just the opposite. That is not what we’re seeking in these spiritual awareness classes. We’re not seeking to be great mediums or great healers or great lecturers or great anything. We’re seeking God. And we find God through the soul faculties. And one of the soul faculties that is so important in finding the Divine is the soul faculty of humility, of humbleness: to recognize that there is an Intelligence that knows what is best for us and that will move through our universe if we will make greater effort not to be the obstruction."

This quote is from "The Living Light Dialogue" Volume 3, which are spiritual awareness classes given through the mediumship of Richard P. Goodwin

"Ghost Land" is the memoir of one of the most remarkable mediums of the 19th century. Below is the first chapter.

For those who wish to continue, here is a link to an online version on the Internet Archive: https://archive.org/details/ghostlandorresea00britrich

CHAPTER 1

INTERESTING SPIRITUAL MYSTERIES AND EXPERIENCES.

On the Threshold — Author’s Views — Parentage — First Years at College Professor Von Marx — The Berlin Brotherhood — First Séance

As the sole object of these sketches has been to present to the investigator into spiritual mysteries some experiences of a singular and exceptional character, I would gladly have recorded them as isolated facts. or even communicated their curious details to such Spiritualistic journalists as might have deemed them worthy of a place in their columns; but on attempting to arrange them in such a form as would accord with this design, I found it impossible to separate the phenomenal portions of the history from the person with whom they were most immediately connected.

Had I been a mere spectator of the scenes detailed, I could have easily reduced them to narrative form, but as in most instances I was either the "medium" through whom the phenomena worthy of record transpired, or their interest was derived from their association with a consecutive history, I found I must either relinquish the design of contributing my experiences to the world, or consent to the repulsive task of identifying them with one who has sufficient reason to shrink from publicity, and sighs for nothing so much as the peaceful retirement which should precede the last farewell to earth. As my own desires have been completely overruled by one whose wishes I gladly prefer to my own, I find myself either obliged to identify my Spiritualistic experiences with a fictitious personage, or accept the repulsive alternative of adding to the many characters I have been compelled to act out on the stage of life's tragic drama the unwelcome one of an autobiographer.

For many reasons unnecessary to detail, I have a special dislike to tales of fiction. Life is all too real, too thoroughly momentous, to be travestied by fictional representations. Truth appeals to the consciousness of true natures with much more earnestness than fiction; and Spiritualistic narrative in particular, as pointing the way on a new path of discovery, and one wherein the eternal interests of the race are concerned, are simply degraded by fictional contrivances. Even the too common tendency to exaggerate the marvels of Spiritualistic phenomena should be carefully avoided, for the sake of arriving at the heart of truths so important and unfamiliar as those which relate to the spiritual aide of man's nature.

It is with these reverential views of truth that I enter upon the task of narrating my singular and exceptional experiences. The only departure I have permitted myself to make from the line of stern and ungarbled fact is in relation to my own identity and that of the persons associated with me. My reasons for suppressing my real name. and in every possible way veiling the identity of those connected with me, are imperative, and if fully understood would be fully appreciated. In all other respects I am about to enter upon a candid history of myself, so far as I am connected with the incidents I am required to detail.

My father was a Hungarian nobleman, but having deemed himself wronged by the ruling government of his country, he virtually renounced it, and being connected on the mother's side with the most powerful native princes of India, from whom he received tempting offers of military and official distinction, he determined to prepare himself for his new career by the requisite course of study in England; hence, the belief very generally prevailed that he was an English officer, an opinion strengthened by the fact that for many years he abandoned his title, and substituted for the rank which he had once held in his native country that which was to him far more honorable, namely, a military distinction won on the battlefields of India by services of the most extraordinary gallantry.

Before his departure for the East my father had married a beautiful Italian lady, and as he resolved to maintain his Hungarian title and estates, barren as they were, for the benefit of his children, he left his eldest son, my only brother, in Austria, for education, in the charge of near relatives. I was born on the soil of Hindoostan shortly after my parents arrived there, and as my eldest brother died when I was about ten years of age, I was sent to Europe to take his place, receive a European education, and become formally installed into the empty dignity, title, and heirship of our Hungarian estates. As my poor father tenaciously adhered to these shadowy dignities for his children, even though he despised and rejected them for himself, I was accustomed from early childhood to hear myself addressed as the Chevalier de B---, and taught to believe, when my brother died, I had· become the heir of a noble house, the prerogatives of which I have never realized, except in the form of the same wrong, oppression, and political tyranny which made my father an alien and a professed subject of a foreign power.

I was about twelve years of age, as well as I can remember, when, returning one day late in the afternoon from the college I attended at B., just as I was about to enter the gate of the house where I boarded, I felt a hand laid on my shoulder, and looking around, I saw myself confronted with one of my teachers, a man who, during the period of my ten months' study in that place, had exerted a singular and irresistible influence over me. He was a professor of Oriental languages, and though I had not been regularly entered in his class, I had joined it because he one day suddenly asked me to do so, and I as suddenly felt impelled to accept his offer. From the very moment that I entered Professor von Marx’s class, I became absorbed by the study of Eastern literature, and the proficiency I made was doubtless owing to· my desire to master the subjects to which these Oriental tongues formed the key. On the morning of the day from which I commence my narrative, Professor von Marx had abruptly asked me if I were a dreamer. I replied in the negative, adding that l thought I often dreamed something, but the memory of what it might be only remained with. me on awaking sufficiently long to impress me with the opinion that I had been somewhere in my sleep, but bad forgotten where. When the professor touched me on the shoulder, as above mentioned, at my own doorstep, he said:

"Louis my boy, how would you like to have some dreams that you could remember, and go to places in your sleep from which you should return and give accounts of?'

"O professor!" I exclaimed. in astonishment, "could I do this, and how?"

"Come with me, boy," replied my teacher. “I belong to a philosophical society, the existence or at least the real nature of which is but little known. We want the aid of a good, smart lad, like you, especially one who is not a conscious dreamer. I have long had my eye upon you, and I think I cannot only trust you with our secrets, but by making you a partaker of them, instruct you in lore of great wisdom, which few children of your· age would be thought worthy to know."

Flattered by this confidence, and more than usually thrilled by the strange shivering which always seemed to follow the touch of the professor's hand, I suffered myself to be led on until I reached with him the fourth story of a large house in a very quiet part of the city, where I was speedily introduced into an apartment of spacious dimensions; parted off by screens and curtains into many subdivisions, and half filled with an assemblage of gentlemen, several of whom, to my surprise, I recognized as belonging to the college, some to neighboring literary institutions, and two others as members of one of the princely families of Germany.

There was an air of mystery and caution attending our entrance into this place and my subsequent introduction to the company, which inclined me to believe that this was a meeting of one of those secret societies that, young as I was, I knew to have been strictly forbidden by the government; hence the idea that l was making one of an illegal gathering impressed me with a sentiment of fear and a restless desire to be gone. Apparently those unexpressed feelings were understood by my teacher, for he addressed me in a low voice, assuring me that I was in the society of gentlemen of honor and respectability, that my presence there had only been solicited to assist them in certain philosophical experiments they were conducting, and that I should soon find cause to congratulate myself that I had been so highly favored as to be. inducted into their association.

Whilst he spoke the professor laid is hand on .my head, and continued to hold it there, at first with a seemingly slight and accidental pressure; but ere he had concluded his address, the weight of that hand appeared to me to increase to an almost unendurable extent. Like a mountain bearing down upon my shoulders, columns of fiery, cloud-like matter seemed to stream from the professor's fingers, enter my whole being, and finally crush me beneath their terrific force into a state where resistance, appeal, or even speech was impossible. A vague feeling that death was upon me filled my bewildered brain, and a sensation of an undefinable yearning to escape from a certain thraldom· in which I believed myself to be held, oppressed me with agonizing force. At length it seemed as if this intense longing for liberation was gratified. I stood, and seemed to myself to stand, free of the professor's crushing hand free of my body, free of every clog or chain but an invisible and yet tangible cord which ·connected me with the form I had worn, but which now, like a garment I had put off, lay sleeping in an easy chair beneath me. As for my real self, I stood balanced in air, as I thought at first, about four feet above and a little on one side of my slumbering mortal envelope; presently, however, I perceived that I was treading on a beautiful crystalline form of matter, pure and transparent, and hard as a diamond, but sparkling, bright, luminous and ethereal. There was a wonderful atmosphere, too, surrounding me on all sides. Above and about me, it was discernible as a radiant, sparkling mist, enclosing my form, piercing the walls and ceiling, and permitting my vision to take in an almost illimitable area of space, including the city, fields, plains, mountains and scenery, together with the firmament above my head, spangled with stars, and irradiated by the soft beams of the tranquil moon. All this vast realm of perception opened up before me in despite of the enclosing walls, ceiling, and other obstacles of matter which surrounded me. These were obstacles no more. I saw through them as if they had been thin air; and what is more I knew I could not only pass through them with perfect ease, but that any piece of ponderable matter in the apartment, the very furniture itself. if it were only brought into the solvent of the radiant fire mist that surrounded me, would dissolve and become, like me and like my atmosphere, so soluble that it could pass, just as I could, through everything material. I saw. or seemed to see, that I was now all force: that I was soul loosed from the body save by the invisible cord which connected me with it; also, that I was in the realm of soul, the soul of matter; and that as my soul and the soul-realm in which I had now entered, was the real force which kept matter together, I could just as easily break the atoms apart and pass through them as one can put a solid body into the midst of water or air.

Suddenly it seemed to me that I would try this newly discovered power, and observing that the college cap I had worn on my poor lifeless body's head was lying idly in the hands, I made an effort to reach it. To succeed. however, l found I must come into contact with a singular kind of blue vapor which for the first time I noticed to be issuing from my body, and surrounding it like a second self.

Whilst I was gazing at this curious phenomenon I felt impressed to look at the other persons in the room, and I then observed that a similar aura or luminous second self issued from every one of them. The color and density of each one varied, and by carefully regarding the nature of these mists, or as I have learned to call them “photospheres,” I could correctly discern the character, motive, and past lives of these individuals.

I became so deeply absorbed in tracing the images, shapes, scenes and revelations that were depicted ·on these men’s souls that I forgot my design of appropriating the cap I had worn, until I noticed that the emanations of Professor von Marx, assuming the hue of a shining rose tint, seemed to permeate and commingle with the bluish vapor that issued from my form. I noticed then another phenomenon. When the two vapors or photospheres were thoroughly commingled, they, too, became force, like my soul and like the realm of soul in which I was standing. To perceive in the state into which I was inducted was to see, hear, taste, smell, and understand all things in one sense. I knew that ·as mortal I could not use more than one or two of the senses at a time; but as a soul, I could realize all sensations through one master sense, perception; also, that this sublime and exalted sixth sense informed me of are more than all which the other senses separately could have done. Suddenly a feeling of triumph possessed me at the idea of knowing and understanding so much more than the grave and learned professors into whose company I had entered a timid, shrinking lad, but whom I now regarded with contempt, because their knowledge was so inferior to mine, and pity, because they could not conceive of the new functions and consequent enjoyments that I experienced as a liberated soul.

There was another revelation impressed upon me at that time, and one which subsequent experiences have quickened into stupendous depths of consciousness. It was this: I saw, as I have before stated, upon my companions, in distinct and vivid characters; the events of their past lives and the motives which had prompted them to their acts. Now it became to me clear as sunlight that one set of motives were wrong, and another right; and that one set of actions (those prompted by wrong motives, I mean) produced horrible deformities and loathsome appearances on the photosphere, whilst the other set of actions·(prompted by the motives which I at once detected as right) seemed to ·illuminate the soul aura with indescribable brightness, and cast a halo of such beauty and radiance over the whole being, that one old man in particular, who was of a singularly uncomely and withered appearance as a mortal, shone, as a soul, in the light of his noble life and glorious emanations, like a perfect angel. I could now write a folio volume on the interior ·disclosures which are revealed to the soul's eye, and which are hidden away or unknown to the bodily senses. I cannot pause upon them now, though I think it would be well if we would write many books on this subject, provided men would read and believe them. In that case, l feel confident, human beings would shrink back aghast and terror-stricken from crime, or even from bad thoughts, so hideous do they show upon the soul, and so full of torment and pain does the photosphere become that is charged with evil. I saw in one very fine gentleman's photosphere the representation of all sorts of the most foul and disgusting reptiles. These images seemed to form, as it were, out of his misty emanations, whilst upon his soul I perceived sores and frightful marks that convinced me he was not only a libertine and a sensualist, but a man imbued with many base and repulsive traits of character.

What I saw that night made me afraid of crime, afraid to cherish bad thoughts or harbor bad motives, and with all my faults and shortcomings in after life, I have never forgotten, or ceased to try and live out, the awful lessons of warning I then learned. l must here state that what may have taken me some fifteen minutes or more to write, flashed upon my perceptions nearly all at once, and its comprehension, in much fuller detail than I have here given, could not have occupied more than a few seconds of time to arrive at.

By this time, that at which I now write, “clairvoyance,” as the soul’s perceptions are called, has become too common a faculty to interest the world much by its elaborate description. Thirty or forty years ago it was too much of a marvel to obtain general credit; but I question whether those who then watched its powers and properties did not study them with more profound appreciation and understanding than they do now, when it seems to be a gift cultivated for very little use beyond that of affording a means of livelihood, and too frequently opens up opportunities of deception for the quack doctor or pretended fortune-teller. But to resume my narrative.

I had not been long free from the fetters of my sleeping body and the professor's magical hand, when he bent down over my form and said:

''Louis, I will you to remember all that transpires in the mesmeric sleep; also, I desire that· you should speak and relate to us, as far as you can, all that you now see and hear."

ln an instant the wish of my childish life, the one incessant yearning that possessed my waking hours, returned to me, namely, the desire to behold my dearly loved mother, from whom I had been separated for the past two years. With the flash of my mother's image across my mind, I seemed to be transported swiftly across an immense waste of waters, to behold a great city, where strange looking buildings were discernible, and where huge domes, covered with brilliant metals, flashed in a burning, tropical sun. Whirled through space, a thousand new and wondrous sights gleamed a moment before my eyes, then vanished. Then I found myself standing beneath the shade of a group of tall palm-trees, gazing upon a beautiful lady who lay stretched upon a couch, shaded by the broad verandah of a stately bungalow, whilst half a dozen dusky figures, robed in white, with bands of gold around their bare arms and ankles, waved immense fans over her, and seemed to be busy in ministering to her refreshment. "Mother, mother!” I cried, extending my arms towards the well-known image of the being dearest to me on earth. As I spoke, I could see that my voice caused no vibration in the air that surrounded my mother’s couch; still the impression produced by my earnest will affected her. I say a light play around her head, which, strange to relate, assumed my exact form, shape and attitude, only that it was a singularly petite miniature resemblance. As it flickered over the sensorium, she raised her eyes from her book, and fixing them upon the exact point in space where I stood, murmured, in a voice that seemed indescribably distant, "My Louis! my poor, far-away, deserted child! would I could see thee now."

At this ·moment the will of my magnetizer seemed to intervene between me and my unexpected vision.

I caught his voice saying in stern tones: "Do not interfere, Herr Eschenmayer. I do not wish him to see his mother, and the tidings he could bring from her would not interest us."

Some one replied; for I felt that the professor listened, though for some cause unknown to me then, I could not hear any voice but his. Again he spoke and said: "I wish him to visit our society at Hamburg, and bring us some intelligence of what they are doing there." As the words were uttered. I saw for one brief second of time my mother's form, the couch whereon she lay, the verandah, bungalow, and all the objects that surrounded her, turn upside-down, like forms seen in a reversed mirror, and then the whole scene changed. Cities, villages, roads, mountains, valleys, oceans, flitted before my gaze, crowding up their representation in a large and splendidly furnished chamber, not unlike the one I had entered with the professor.

I perceived that I was at Hamburgh, in the house of the Baron von S., and that he and a party of gentlemen were seated around a table on which were drinking cups, each filled with some hot, ruby-colored liquid, from which a fragrant, herb-like odor was exhaled. Several crystal globes were on the table, also some plates of dark, shining surfaces, together with a number of open. books, some in print, others in MSS., and others again whose pages were covered with characters of an antique form, and highly illuminated. As l entered, or seemed born into this apartment, a voice exclaimed: ''A messenger from Herr von Marx is here, a 'flying soul,’ one who will carry the promised word to our circle in B."

''Question him," responded another voice. "What tidings or message does he bring?”

"He is a ·new. recruit, no adept in the sublime sciences,” responded the first speaker, "and cannot be depended on."

“Let me speak with him," broke in a voice of singularly sweet tone and accent; and thereupon I became able to fix my perceptive sense so clearly on this last speaker, that I fully realized who and what he was, and how situated. I observed that he stood immediately beneath a large mirror suspended against the wall, and set in a circular frame covered with strange and cabalistic looking characters. A dark velvet curtain was undrawn and parted on either side of the mirror, and in or on, I cannot tell which, its black and highly polished surface, I saw a miniature form of a being robed in starry garments, with a glittering crown on its head, long tresses of golden hair, shining as sunbeams, streaming down its shoulders, and a face of the most unparalleled loveliness my eyes had then or have ever since beheld. I cannot tell whether this creature or image was designed to represent a male or female. I did not then know and may not now say whether it was an animate or inanimate being. It seemed to be living, and its beautiful lips moved as if speaking, and its strangely­ gleaming, sad eyes were fixed with an expression of pity upon me.

Several voices, with the tones of little children, though I saw none present, said, in a. clear, choral accent: "The crowned angel speaks. Li ten!" The lips of the figure in the mirror then seemed to move. A long beam of light, extended from them to the fine, noble-looking youth of about eighteen who stood beneath the mirror, and who pronounced, in the voice I had last heard, these words:

"Tell Felix von Marx he and his companions are searching in vain. They spend their time in idle efforts to confirm a. myth, and will only reap the bitter fruits of disappointment and mockery. The soul of man is compounded from the aromal life of elementary spirits, and, like the founders and authors of its being, only sustains an individualized life so long as the vehicle of the soul holds together and remains intact. If the spirits of the elements, stars, and worlds have been unable during countless ages to discover the secret of eternal being, shall such a mere vaporous compound of their exhaled essence as the soul of man achieve the aim denied to them? Go to, presumptuous ones! Life is a transitory condition of combinations, death a final state of dissolution. Being is an eternal alternation between these changes, and individuality is the privilege of the soul once only in eternity. Look upon my earthly companion! look well and describe him, so that the employers who have sent you shall know that the· crowned angel has spoken."

I looked as directed, and noticed that the young man who spoke, or seemed to speak, in rhythmic harmony with the image in the mirror, wore a fantastic masquerade dress, different from all the other persons present. He on his part seemed moved with the desire that those around him should become aware of my presence, as he was. Then I noticed his eyes looked intelligently into mine, as if he saw and recognized me; but the gaze of all the rest of the company met mine as if they looked on vacancy. They could not see me.

"Flying soul," said the youth, authoritatively addressing· me, “can you not give us the usual signal?” Instantly I remarked that dim, shadowy forms, like half erased photographic images, were fixed in the air and about the apartment, and I saw that they were forms composed of the essence of souls that, like mine, had visited that chamber; and like mine had left their tracery behind. With the pictures thus presented, however; I understood the nature of the signals they had given, and what was now demanded of me. I, willed instinctively a strong breath or life essence to pass from myself to the young man, also I noticed that his photosphere was of the same rosy tint as Professor von Marx's.

I saw the blue vapor from my form exhale like a cloud by my will, commingle with his photosphere, and precipitate itself towards his finger-ends, feet, hair, beard, and eyelashes.

He laid his hand on a small tripod of different kinds of metal which stood near him, and, by the direction of my will, five showers of the life essence were discharged from his fingers, sounding like clear distinct detonations through the apartment.

All present started, and one voice remarked: "The messenger has been here!"

"And gone!" added the youth, when instantly l sunk into blank unconsciousness.

I've recently asked my spirit guide(s) for their names. An excellent natural medium told me today that I had two specific archangels on either side of me. I was blown away as I felt my question was answered. However, upon researching each one, I see they differ from a spirit guide. I am wondering if I should be speaking to these archangels, who I am beyond privileged to have with me, as I would my spirit guide(s). Or, perhaps I have archangels with me exclusively? Or, perhaps the archangels just came in during that moment?

Hi, I am wondering if taking THC/CBD gummies every night to help me sleep creates a blockage to establishing a connection to the spirit realm. It helps, but perhaps accumulating it on one's system over time is unsuitable. On the other side of the coin is alcohol. I read that drinking stifles one's ability to connect with spirit. However, why is alcohol called "spirits"? I don't drink much, but I do take the gummies a lot.

About 1.5 years ago, I cheated on my girlfriend with a hooker. Before that, I struggled with a severe addiction to porn and as I now understand was overwhelmingly influenced by negative energies or entities—I’m not sure what the right terminology is. Even though my girlfriend has forgiven me and we love each other, there’s a persistent feeling that something is wrong between us, to the point of intense craving for suicide. But we will not do that.

I sense that there’s another presence between us, and I want to know how to get rid of it. I absorbed a significant amount of the hooker’s energy, which makes everything feel cursed—and it likely is.

For context, my girlfriend is still a virgin, and the hooker was the first person I had sex with. We aren’t religious in a dogmatic sense, but we do understand the spiritual side of things, and she is especially sensitive to various "energies" to the point of even visually detecting them sometimes.

For obvious reason I will not go any further into personal details, but I desperately need to cleanse myself of that energy because its not going to end well otherwise.

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