69761
69761
69761
https://ebookgate.com/product/creation-and-completion-essential-
points-of-tantric-meditation-2nd-edition-jamgon-kongtrul/
ebookgate.com
https://ebookgate.com/product/gateway-to-knowledge-a-condensation-of-
the-tripitaka-vol-1-1st-edition-jamgon-mipham-rinpoche/
ebookgate.com
https://ebookgate.com/product/chemistry-class-9-2nd-edition-trishna-
knowledge-systems/
ebookgate.com
https://ebookgate.com/product/the-treasury-and-british-public-
policy-1906-1959-george-c-peden/
ebookgate.com
https://ebookgate.com/product/collectors-banknotes-2008-treasury-and-
bank-of-england-15th-edition-pam-west/
ebookgate.com
https://ebookgate.com/product/towards-the-managed-economy-keynes-the-
treasury-and-the-fiscal-policy-debate-of-the-1930s-roger-middleton/
ebookgate.com
0
The Treasury of Knowledge
.
I
.
I
I
J b K TRUL
•T
..
l JOURNEY AND GOAL
x. While it has been the convention among Western scholars to consider 1899 to be the
year ofKongtrul's death, the account of his death and funeral by his student ~esar Karma
Tashi Chophel states that Kongttul passed away on the evening of the twenty-seventh
day of the eleventh month of the Earth Pig Year. Given that the Tibetan year "overlaps"
the Western year by at least one and a half months, Kongtrul's death would have occurred
sometime in early Januaty of 1900. See Kongtrul, 1he Autobiography of]amgon Kongtrul,
403,n. 30-
2. - THE TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE
More important than practicing the dharma is the way one practices.
(chos sgrub pa las sgrub tshul gtso)
-TIBETAN SAYING
This volume is part of the ongoing project founded by the Very Vener-
able Kalu Rinpoche (I90S-I989) to produce an English translation of
the Treasury ofKnowledge, a monumental work in ten major sections by
Jamgon Kongtrul Lodro Taye (1813-1900), of whom Kalu Rinpoche is
held to have been the "activity emanation." The present volume contains·
a translation of the last two of the ten books that constitute Kongtrul's
masterful exposition of the entire range of thought and practice available
within the Tibetan tradition of Buddhism, as well as the concluding sec-
tion of the entire Treasury and a verse summary of it written by Kongtrul
himself as a mnemonic device tor his students. In Book 9, Kongtrul dis-
cusses the "journey" (the p·rocess of transformation) from varying per-
spectives within the Buddhist tradition, while in Book 10 he presents the
"goal" (the fruition state of enlightenment to which this leads).
Every systematized school of thought, secular or sacred, has its "mind
map;' a model for defining what i~ in effect, a journey. Whether such a
map is explicitly described or only implicitly understood, it presents an
overview of the px:ocess by which the mind of the individual is shaped or
transformed by that system, and so undergoes a journey, moving from one
worldview, one set of values and assumptions and perceptions, to another.
The Buddhist teachings are not unique in referring to this process as a
"path;' and they present a very sophisticated and logical model of the
progress ordinary individuals make from states of confusion and frustra-
tion to those of liberation and enlightenment. There are multiple models,
for Kongtrul's intention was not to present a single interpretation of how
4 - THE TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE
this path unfolds and leads to its goal but instead to expose his readership
to the entire spectrum of possibilities available to him as a master of the
Tibetan tradition of Buddhism in all its diversity. It is a well-recognized
fact in the Buddhist tradition that beings are of many different personal-
ity types and levels of aptitude, and that it is necessary to accommodate
the needs and predispositions of a wide spectrum of individuals, rather
than try to define a single, fixed model into which everyone must some-
how"fit."
While the fact has been attested to in virtually every volume of this
series, it still bears repeating that the structure of the Treasury ofKnowl-
edge as a whole is based on the theme of the three higher trainings-those
of ethical discipline, meditation, and wisdom (or, as it is rendered in this
translation, sublime intelligence). This model of the higher trainings is
one of several that provide al;l overview of the Mahayana teachings and
allow someone approaching this enormous body of literature to begin
seeing the internal logic and structure that lends these teachings so much
of their inspiration and beauty. Kongtrul credits a colleague and teacher
of his with suggesting the theme that eventually led to his composing the
Treasury ofKnowledge. In his autobiography, the entry for the Water Dog
Year (r862.-r863, when Kongtrul was fifty years old) contains the follow-
ing notation:
Thus, even when composing the source verses that eventually became
the basis of his own commentary (Lama Karma Ngedon, who died in
r864, was unable to fulfill his commitment to write the commentary by
the time the source verses were completed), Kongtrul expanded on this
theme to include treatments of virtually every field of knowledge avail-
TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION - 5
able within the Tibetan tradition of Buddhism in his time. The task of
writing the verses that provided the skeleton that he would later flesh out
with his enormous commentary took him the better part of two years
(1861-1862.), and with the encouragement ofhis guruJamyang:lQlyentsei
Wangpo (182.0-1892.)/ he began composing the commentary, finishing
(in a remarkably short time) in 1864.3 Over the next decade Kongtrul
makes reference to his giving the oral transmission for the work; he must
have been using his handwritten manuscript, as the woodblocks for print-
ing the entire work (source verses and commentary) were carved begin-
ning in 1875! The title he uses in these references5 is,-stri~tly speaking,
neither that of the source verses' nor that of the commentary.7 (It is.fairly
common in Tibetan for there to be a "shorthand.. title that refers to a text
or even several texts that fall within the same category, such as the present
case of the source verses and the commentary:)
It is also in his autobiography that Jamgon Kongrrul gives us an over-
view of the contents of the Treasury ofKnowledge. In discussing his writ-
ings, he remarks,
In order that, at the very least, the entrance to this path may
open easily to anyone whose intellect is as limited as mine, I
will explain this treatise in three parts: the introduction, which
provides the initial benefit of improving one's condition; the
main body of the text, which has the subsequent benefit of
leading one to freedom: and the conclusion, which has the
final benefit of fulfilling the two objectives. 13
well laid-out plan that has the experience of countless practitioners over
a great many generations to validate it.
The other danger, of cc;>urse, is that gaining an impressive command of
all the details found in these teachings on the paths, levels, and fruition
state will remain solely an intellectual achievement, without the trans-
formative power of practice. It is entirely possible that someone could
become a highly educated technician, able to design an entire automobile
without ever having been behind the wheel. There is obviQusly a need to
balance theoretical knowledge with experience.
Perhaps the study of the journey and the goal appears daunting because
one feels that it will make the process seem too difficult and will thus
undermine one's confidence in one's spiritual practice. Kalu Rinpoche
was once asked how far along the path to buddhahood he himself had
progressed; he replied that ifbuddhahood wert' represented by the door
to the room a few yards distant, then he had, by analogy, barely even begun
rising from the chair in which he was sitting at the time. We can explain
this away as pro forma Asian humility, but we can also see it as, at one and
the same time, an encouragement to continue on the path oneself and a
comment on the truly infinite nature of the goal ofbuddhahood, with the
corresponding awareness of the limitations of our ineffectual attempts to
quantify it from our limited perspective.
Our practice is, in fact, to be subjected to scrutiny, so that we examine
the results of our efforts critically and objectively, rather than deceiving
ourselves or allowing ourselves to base them on ill-founded assumptions.
There is a quotation from the works of the Kagyii master Garnpopa, the
student ofMilarepa, to the effect that "if the dharma is not practiced as
the dharma is intended to be, the dharma can become a cause for rebirth
in lower states of existence." The point of this somewhat startling state-
ment (the dharma can send you to a lower realm?) is that it is, in a sense,
more important to understand how to practice than it is to understand
what to practice. Mere technique can be subverted by the habitual pat-
terns of confusion and self-deception when its underlying purpose is not
fully appreciated.
Confidence is necessary in order to pursue a spiritual path with dili-
gence and energy; the complex phenomenon that is faith in the Buddhist
sense includes an element of conviction and trust in the teachings and the
process of practice, but this trust should be as informed as possible, not
mere blind allegiance. In the final analysis, the confidence we place in our
efforts to transform ourselves from ordinary beings into enlightened ones
TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION - 9
needs to be something we can back up with proof, or at least (for the time
being) with reasoned arguments.
In these last two books, as throughout the Treasury of Knowledge,
Kongtrul's style is not polemic. He routinely presents varying interpreta-
tions of a point without himself passing judgment (although he might
arguably be said to condemn by omission on occasion). In his discus-
sions ofboth journey and goal, he examines the models that apply to four
approaches within the framework of the Buddhist teachings:
as gang la gang 'dul, that is, guiding beings in any way that is appropriate
under the circumstances, provided that the means meet the criteria of
being legitiplate ways to ensure greater happiness and well-being in the
shorter term and to contribute to liberation from satpsara and enlight~n
ment and omniscience in the final analysis. There are echoes of this point
of view even in the Indian tradition; terms such as atman (self, soul) and
nitya (permanent) were considered acceptable ways to describe the bud-
dha nature (even though they were not, strictly speaking, orthodox Bud-
dhist terminology, which tends to speak in terms of the nonexistence of
aJlY ultimate or permanent "thing"'with its own autonomous identity)
siflce they helped make the concept initially more accessible to non-Bud-
dhists who were more familiar with those terms.
To return to the use of"Hinayana" in this translation: aside from the
fact that it would seem coy to sidestep the fact that the Tibetan equiva-
lent (theg p{Z chung ngu or theg pa dman pa) appears in the original, the
term is not used in a derogatory manner but as indicative of a particular
mentality, and this is where I would argue that the term still has validity.
"Hinayana" does not have to be seen as referring to a group of Buddhists
from a particular geographical region or a specific ethnic background; in
fact, no modern day group or school (as a group or school in toto) meets
the criteria for what is traditionally termed "Hinayana" in Kongtrul's dis-
cussions, and it is unlikely that one ever did. The term is best used as a ref-
erence to a particular kind of individual who may exist among Buddhist
practitioners anywhere and at any time, one whose purpose in practicing
is focused on personal benefit and personal release from suffering. This is
not a completely unworthy aim, simply a more narrow and limited one,
which is the only judgment passed on it by tradition. The frequent dis-
dain in Tibetan circles for "the Hinayana" notwithstanding, the more
sophisticated thinkers of the· tradition accorded honor to these teach-
ings as an integral part of the Buddha's legacy and also pointed out that
there is a distinction to be made between individuals who may practice
methods that are traditionally considered to derive from the teachings of
the sravaka approach and those who might historically have adhered to a
very specific set of philosophical principles. If there ever were groups of
Buddhist practitioners who followed exactly the principles outlined in
Vasubandhu's Treasury ofAbhidharma, for example, there are no longer.
There are, however, any number of people who, whether they are hon-
est about it or not, are practicing their spiritual path primarily, if not
TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION - II
exclusively, for their own sake, with any real concern for the welfare of
other beings (especially other nonhuman beings) being largely lip service.
Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche pointed out that practicingasddhana from
the highest class of tantra out of purely self-centered concern rendered it,
in effect, a "Hinayana practice." In the same vein, although the Tibetan
system of monastic ordination derives historically from the Miilasarvasti-
vadin school, one of the eighteen "Hinayana schools" that flourished in
ancient India, those who receive such ordination are instructed to do so
with the "Mahayana motivation" of upholding that discipline not simply
for the individual liberation (Skt. pratimokfa; Tib. so sor thar pa) that
gives it its name but for the sake ofbenefiting all beings. Clearly, the proof
of a yana is in the practicing, in the attitudes and values held in the mind
of the one following it.
One of the primary models that runs throughout Kongtrul's discus-
sions of the four approaches mentioned above is that of the five paths
(Skt. pafica mdrga; Tib. lam lnga). These are techni~ally known as the
paths of accumulation, linkage, seeing, meditation, and "no more train-
ing" (or consummation). It may seem confusing to speak of a "path" being
made up five "paths," but these are sequential phases, where each preced-
ing path prepares one for, and leads into, the succeeding one. The late
professor H. V. Guenther defined this process as follows:
In light of the great detail into which discussions of these five paths go,
it is worthwhile to have some concise overview to put them in perspec-
tive.16 Regardless of which of these five paths, or phases, we are consider-
ing, the primary issue in all Buddhist approaches is that of the liberation
of one's mind from the factors (termed the "afflictive and cognitive obscu-
rations") that prevent one from gaining higher states of realization. The
entire process of spiritual training is thus seen as a twofold one, involving
at any given point the elimination of certain of the factors that obstruct a
state of realization and (at the same time) the resulting state of realization
12. - THE TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE
that then becomes accessible. It is for this reason that one succinct defini-
tion ofbuddhahood is "the consummate degree of elimination and real-
ization" (spang.r rtogs kyi mthar thug). In order for this twofold process to
take place, one must first have felt a sense of dissatisfaction with the pres-
ent set of circumstances one is in-a profound dissatisfaction with the
entire state of conditioned existence that goes beyond a dissatisfaction
with any personal issues that might need to be dealt with in the mean-
time. This lies at the very root of the path in Buddhism; the terms used
to describe it (Skt. nil,saraT)a; Tib. nges par 'byung ba) are ofi:en rendered
as "renunciation; but the English word, with its negative connotations of
aversion to, and fear of, the world at large, does poor justice to the sense
of the original ternis. This sense ofdissatisfaction does not find its expres-
sion in a puritanical attitude of repression and self-denial but rather as
an inspired will to become free of the limitations imposed by our present
state of ignorance of our true nature and the confusion and frustration
this imposes on our mind. It is based on this "will to become free" that we
can and do traverse the five paths.
The first path is termed that df"accumulation;' the analogy being that
ofsomeone gathering together provisions before undertaking a long jour-
ney. The point, however, ofsuch accumulation lies in the fact that, at pres-
ent, our ordinary mind is caught up in the confusion, habitual patterns,
afflictive states, and ordinary concepts of dualistic consciousness, all of
which are counterproductive to the main task at hand, that of discover-
ing a direct experience of the actual nature of things. The main function
of the first path, then, is to render our currently unruly and unworkable
mind more adaptable to that task. In doing so, we engage in the study
and practice of the teachings, activities that, while still on the conceptual
level, are enormously useful and entirely in harmony with the discovery
of our true nature and, attendant upon that discovery, the liberation of
the mind from confusion and suffering.
The second path is that of"linkage; so called because it provides the
link between the first path of accumulation and the third path of see-
ing, thus ensuring the continuity of the entire process while neverthe-
less introducing a new dement, described as "anticipation of the decisive
breakthrough" (Skt. nirvedhabhdgiya; Tib. nges 'hyed cha mthun), which
consists of four anticipatory phases. These four watershed experiences
define what lies at the core of the path of linkage: the development of a
sublime intelligence and insight. Although born of a process of medita-
TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION - 13
tion that is still "mundane" (which is to say, still within a dualistic and
conceptual framework, and thus still "of this world"), this intelligence
heralds the direct realization of ultimate reality that constitutes the path
of seeing. Having previously, on the path of accumulation, rendered one's
unworkable mind adaptable, on the path of linkage one uses this newly
workable mind to focus on the main intention, that of gaining realization
of this ultimate nature through directly experiencing it in a way that goes
beyond concepts and dualistic consciousness.
The four anticipatory phases that make up the path of linkage are
referred to as meditative warmth, the peak experience, patient accep-
tance, and the highest mundane experience. The name "warmth," which is
also used in a nonspecific sense to indicate a significant degree ofprogress
in meditation practice, refers to a sense of approaching the point at which
one will experience the transformative insight of the path of seeing, just
as there is a sense of warmth from the friction of tw.o s~icks being rubbed
together, which presages the moment at which they burst into flames.
Although it is quite brief, the second phase, that of the pe;Lk experi-
ence, is indicative of the point at which the fundamentally positive fac-
tors ("roots ofvirtue") that one has been accumulating are reaching a kind
of critical mass, although they are still unstable due to the fact that one's
path is still by and large based on dualistic conceptual consciousness.
Nevertheless, it is this peak that is followed immediately by the onset
of the third phase, that of patient acceptance.
Acceptance in this context is that of the profundity of what one is
approaching-direct experience of emptiness as the ultimate nature of
phenomena, "an acceptance" (Kongtrul notes) "that parallels the path of
seeing" itsel£ There is a humorous account in the siitra tradition of the
Buddha Sakyamuni teaching students about varibus aspects of empti-'
ness, and while some present, described as being of lesser capacity, were
delighted at his teaching on the emptiness of the individual self or per-
sonality, they became dismayed when he then went on to speak of the
emptiness of all phenomena and clapped their hands over their ears lest
they be forced to accept something that challenged their comfortable
assumptions about the world. With this phase of patient acceptance,
one's practice has matured to the point where one is no longer daunted
by the profundity of what one will soon experience directly.
The fourth and final phase of the path of linkage is that of the "high-
est mundane experience;' so called because although it is still within the
14 - THE TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE
In the Vajrayana, the stages of the path that are connected with
the common factors that contribute to enlightenment (to give
16 - THE TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE
and meditation expresses itself in the way one perceives and acts in the
world. Because it provides a more dramatic enactment of that realization,
if properly undertaken, conduct can accelerate one's spiritual journey
through the paths and levels, an effect that is known as "enhancement."
Progress that would take place in any case is swifter when this enhance-
ment comes into play. Of the many variations on this theme of conduct,
Kongtrul focuses in particular on the interpretation in the Anuttarayoga
tantras and gives a very detailed treatment of the gar}acakra ritual as the
vehicle for the enhancement of practice in the higher tantras.
Kongtrul began life as a follower of the indigenous Tibetan tradition
of Bon, although the man who raised him in that tradition was only his
nominal father (his biological father having been a Buddhist lama). His
formal Buddhist training, however, began when he was sixteen years of
age, in 1828, when he was introduced to Gyurme Tutop Namgyal, the
bntrul incarr1:ation of the Nyingma monastery ofZhechen, 17 who became
Kongtrul's first Buddhist teacher. He excelled at his study and practice of
this school until the point almost five years later when, due to his tal-
ents and intelligence, he was conscripted to serve at Palpung, the main
Kagyii monastery of eastern Tibet and seat of the Tai Situpa incarnations.
There he began his study and practice of the system of the Sarma school of
the Kagyii. Although the Nyingma and Kagyii are historically the most
closely connected of the Tibetan schools, Kongtrul nevertheless felt that
he had drifted from his Nyingma roots. In his autobiography, he relates a
disturbing dream he had in 1836:
After the celebrations for the new Fire Hare Year [x867-
x868]-the first year in the fifteenth sexagesimal cyde21 - I
undertook my annual personal retreat on Vajrakila and con-
cluded with a ritual to avert negativity. During the second
month I went to Dzongsho, where the great terton Chokgyur
Lingpa was staying, having asked his permission to do so the
last time we had met.... My lord guru [i.e., Jamyang Khyentsei
Wangpo] also came.... Seating me on a throne made ofstones,
the two of them invested me with the title of a terton and per-
formed a ceremony for my long life.22
Given this background, it is little wonder that for the rest of his life
Kongtrul accorded great respect to the Nyingma teachings in general and
those of the Dzogchen tradition in particular, so much so that the entire
2.0 - THE TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE
here and which embraces and fulfills all the principles found in the so-
called lower approaches, will become watered down to an overly simplis-
tic version that could seem to invalidate them.
Book IO concerns the goal-that is, the fruition state in the various
Buddhist approaches. Again Kongtrul begins, in Part I, with a discussion
of the meaning of "nirvil)a" in light of the three approaches (of sravaka,
pratyekabuddha, and bodhisattva) and the Mahayana understanding of
the state of buddhahood, presenting in great detail a rich and manifold
vision of the state of complete enlightenment.
Part 2 is concerned with a theme that is very central to the Vajrayana
yet is often puzzling to Westerners: that of spiritual attainments (Skt. sid-
dhi; Tib. dngos grub). Included in this discussion is a treatment of the
Khecara, the pure realm of experience particularly emphasized in the
cycles ofVajrayogini practice.
,Part 3 of Book IO focuses on the fruition state as it is described in the
Vajrayana teachings, again primarily from the point of view of the Sarma
schools. Here, as throughout Books 9 and I o, Kongtrul attempts to show
the parallels inherent in the seemingly divergent models of the traditions
of siitra vis-a-vis tantra, while still maintaining the integrity of each and
emphasizing the extraordinary profundity of both.
Part 4, the final section of Book IO, turns once more to the Nyingma
interpretation of the fruition state. Here he draws on the two predomi-
nant models: that based on the tantra known as the Web ofMagical Dis-
play'-4 and that based on the "Vajra Heart Essence of Utter Lucidity;2s
which is to say, the Atiyoga approach (in turn based on the teachings
found in the seventeen Dzogchen tantras) and more specifically the
teachings contained in the cycles known in Tibetan as Nyingtik (snying
thig). Although Kongtrul does not cite them as sources directly, it is clear
that much of his discussion owes itself to the writings ofLongchen Rab-
jam (kLong chen rab 'byams, I308-I364), perhaps the greatest scholar
the Nyingma tradition has ever produced.
Also included in this volume is the concluding section to· the entire
Treasury ofKnowledge, which follows as traditional a format as does the
introductory section (published in the volume Myriad Worlds in the Trea-
sury of Knowledge series), discussing the nature of the work as a whole,
Kongtrul's purpose as an author in writing it, the process of composition,
and finishing with prayers of aspiration for the work to bring benefit to
others, an acknowledgement of any errors that may have occurred, and
22 - THE TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE
Basis [b]
The basis being characterized is one of striving at hearing teachings,
meditating, and so forth.
Analysis [c]
Cultivation of the applications of mindfulness, aspects of correct
renunciation,
and bases of supernormal powers-this path has three degrees (that is,
initial, intermediate, and final).
Alternatively, this path is analyzed into four stages, that of the beginner
and so forth.
Nature [d]
There are three distinctive features: onset, dependence, and what one
focuses on.
Qualities [f]
On the basis of spiritual potential, attitude, and conduct, one is
endowed with five qualities.
One gains the ongoing qualities of deeper levels of insight, levels of
deeper discernment, and meditative absorption.
THE SOURCE VERSES - 2.9
Function [g]
In these degrees (initial, intermediate, and final), the Four Truths and
two levels of truth are mentally embraced,
which causes one to turn away from the four kinds of erroneous
opinions arid the conception of things as real;
counterproductive factors are eliminated, while positive qualities are
aroused and increased;
the eight thought patterns are eliminated, and meditative absorption is
·brought to a one-pointed focus.
Basis [b]
It is the sublime intelligence that derives from meditation in a mundane
framework.
Analysis [c]
While there are many ways to analyze this path (such as the natural
progression of dedicated intent),
once timeless awareness is experienced as the onset of meditative
warmth,
with the stirring of fundamentally positive factors,
one gains patient acceptance of the profound nature of phenomena
and the highest mundane experience.
30 - THE TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE
These four phases involve the cultivation of five governing powers and
five strengths, one group for each pair of phases.
Qualities [f]
One is endowed with qualities such as experiencing no interruption
and no falling.
Function [g]
The misperception of things having identity is eliminated, and there
is the onset of the first level.
Basis [b]
... a transcendent harmony
of calm abiding and deeper insight ...
Analysis [c]
Nature [d]
Elimination on the Path of Seeing [i]
Qualities [f]
There is freedom from five states of fear, and there are twelve
hundredfold qualities.
Function [g]
This frees one from conditioned existence and ensures one's gaining
the level of nirv~a.
Basis [b]
That direct realization is integrated into one's ongoing experience.
Analysis [c]
The corruptible· path of meditation can be understood from the
foregoing discussions.
For the incorruptible transcendent path, the working bases are those
of the sravaka, pratyekabuddha, and bodhisattva.
It includes four pathways: that of linkage, that without obstacles, that
of complete freedom,
and that of distinctive features. In essence, it is of greater, middling,
or lesser degrees.
THE SOURCE VERSES - 33
Nature [d]
The 414 factors to be eliminated on the path of meditation are removed
through antidotes.
The distinctive features are those in whom it awakens, what level it
entails, and what one focuses on.
Qualities [f]
The distinctive qualities continue to increase.
Function [g]
One traverses the ten successive levels, becoming free oflatent
obscurations.
Basis [b]
The basis underlying these characteristics is the vajralike samadhi at the
very threshold of enlightenment, the level of Total Illumination, and
so forth.
Analysis [c]
This path is analyzed according to three approaches, two paths, three
levels, and so forth.
The ten factors that require no more training are included within the
five incorruptible components.
Nature [d]
The nature includes those in whom it awakens, what level it entaUs, and
what one focuses on.
Qualities [f]
The qualities, both common and especial, are inconceivable.
Function [g]
This makes evident the kayas and aspects of timeless awareness without
exception.
As for the levels, in the broadest sense these are of two kinds: those of
freedom from attachment and those ofbuddhahood.
III
Shortly before dinner that night I picked up a pencil again, and
“Mary Kendal” was immediately written. It had become customary
for her to write her name both at the beginning and at the end of
her communication, probably to avoid confusion with Frederick.
“Manse is in New York,” she told us, repeating it several times. For
some reason I questioned this, and she said: “You must not doubt.
He is coming to-night.”
“Are you happy, Mary?” Cass asked.
“Very, especially now, since I am with you. You can reach Manzie.”
Keenly sympathizing with her eagerness to reach her husband,
from whom no word had come, he suggested telephoning to
Mansfield at his club, but I demurred, feeling that, if he were there,
he would receive my letters and communicate with us, unless, as I
began to fear, he preferred not to approach the subject in any way.
Repeatedly, however, Mary insisted “Call him up,” and Cass put in the
long-distance call accordingly.
“He is there.... He will answer,” she reiterated again and again,
while we waited.
It is impossible to make a fully accurate report of this interview.
The messages were confused and broken, and there were many
monosyllabic replies to questions not recorded.
At one time we asked about Anne Lowe, and Mary said: “Anne is
not here. She is a lovely character. She works for children.... Manse
is not there.... Manse is out.... He will answer.... He is not there.”
Eventually the long-distance operator reported that Mr. Kendal was
not at his club and was not expected.
I asked Mary why she had said that he was there, telling her that
this was making me doubt my powers of correct transmission, to
which she replied that this was better than too much credulity,
adding: “Manse is there.... He is out of the club.... He must be
there.”
We called up the —— Club a second time and I talked to the clerk,
who said Mansfield Kendal was not registered there, nor had they
been notified that he was coming. Long afterward we learned that
he had expected to be there at that time, but had been detained in
the Northwest by business.
Meanwhile, there was much confused writing from Mary. “Manse is
in the club.... He is not there.... He must be there.... He is out.”
Effort to write the name of a city was followed by, “Minneapolis
recently.... Manse will be there soon.”
It was Mansfield Kendal himself who ultimately arrived at a
possible explanation of some of these apparent inaccuracies, Mary
having explained others meanwhile. But at the time it was all very
contradictory and confusing, and after dinner Cass demanded an
explanation.
Mary Kendal came at once, admitting that she had been wrong in
saying that Mansfield was at the club, and asserting that she
“thought he would be.”
“Didn’t you know?”
“No.”
Again the messages are confused and fragmentary. “You must not
doubt.... He will be there soon ...” are among those now
decipherable, each many times repeated. She seemed profoundly
distressed.
To ease the tension, Cass made a little joke, eliciting no response
from her, whereupon he asked whether they retained a sense of
humor over there.
“Yes, but this is no time for humor.... I am so afraid of missing
Manse.”
Again she urged me to write to him, but I refused, reminding her
that I had made every possible advance until some reply to my
letters should be received.
“Yes, I know, but it means so much! You will help, won’t you?”
Knowing nothing then of the tremendous forces of attraction and
repulsion unconsciously put into operation by persons ignorant of
their existence, and assuming—not unnaturally—that she must be
able to learn at least as much about Mansfield’s whereabouts and
condition as both she and Frederick evidently knew about ours, I
was unable to understand, even dimly, the contradictions of the
present situation, and the cloud of it hung over me all that evening
and the next day. I was oppressed by a sense of my responsibility in
conveying messages from sources seeming suddenly so uncertain.
Following Mary, Frederick came again, his buoyancy undiminished.
“Mother dearest,” he began, without question, “Mrs. Kendal is
true. She is a fine force.” I rather held back on this, and the writing
was angular and unyielding. “There are things we cannot explain.”
“You have too little faith. Mary Kendal.”
This statement was made without preliminary comment, and until
she signed her name I thought Frederick was writing. I reminded
her that she had made it impossible for me to trust her wholly.
“I am sorry I shook your faith,” she said. “I welcome you to this
relation, and want you to believe.”
“Mother dearest, you know I am here, don’t you?” Again Frederick
made his own interrogation point. “Because I am, and you will feel
my presence more and more clearly as time goes on.”
“Do you know all that we want to know?” Cass inquired.
“Not all you want to know. We know more than you do, and will
tell you all we can, as soon as you are ready for it.” We were
uncertain whether this meant mentally and spiritually ready, or that
we must learn the conditions through which they can best reach us,
and he explained. “We can tell you anything you are prepared to
understand, and the more you learn there the better you will do
your work here.”
“Are you still interested in politics here?” he was asked, a little
later.
“Oh yes. But they are in a state of transition that is fearfully
difficult to understand or to influence now. The seed has been sown,
but the harvest is not yet garnered. Nobody knows what will come
of it in this country.”
“Are you conscious there of what people here call God?” his
mother asked.
“We are conscious of a great purpose. Some of us call it God. I
see it as light in dark places. Others see it as power. Others as love.
But we all recognize it as a purpose.”
At luncheon that day we had spoken of Prof. William James and
Sir Frederick Myers, and later in the evening Mrs. Gaylord asked
Frederick whether he knew Professor James.
“I know him, but I am not sure he knows me. He is a great force,
and many of us go to him for help and instruction. Only one other
man has the same sort of power. That is Sir Frederick.”
“Are you with people from this world only?” some one asked. “And
does everybody go there, or only a certain element?”
“There are people from this world only, but it is as with you, not
all people are equally prepared. Growth is easier here if one has
earned it there. But not all have earned it, and the penalty for
laziness is long struggle.... Purgatory is not a bad definition of it. The
right to do big work must be earned. Some people have a terrible
struggle of it. [Their?] Moral muscles are flabby.”
“Do you agree with Mary Kendal that there is humor there, but
that this is no time for it?”
“Oh, she didn’t mean that! She meant that this particular crisis is
not humorous to her. She is deeply concerned to get into touch with
him.... Good night, Mother dearest. I’ll be with you all night.”
“Good night,” said Mary Kendal. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
IV
The more I thought about the Kendal affair the more perplexing it
seemed, and since I could neither question that Mary Kendal and
Frederick had actually communicated through me nor believe that
she would wilfully deceive me, there seemed no possible explanation
of the episode Saturday night, except some unconscious influence of
my own mind. By the next afternoon I had almost persuaded myself
that the repeated erroneous statements about Mr. Kendal had been
induced, in some way not traceable, by my increasing anxiety
concerning his reception of the letters I had sent to his club.
After luncheon, we took up the communication again, and
immediately, without interrogation, the pencil wrote, “You are a good
messenger.”
“Who is writing?” I asked.
“Frederick.”
“How much of this do I do, and how much is yours?”
“You do very little. Mostly, you lend a hand.” This is so literally
what I do that we laughed. “You are by nature skeptical,” he
continued. “Mother dearest, you must not let her make you doubt
that I have said all these things.”
“It unsettles me when I know what the message is to be before it
is written,” I persisted. “Do you suggest it to me, or I to you?”
“Sometimes you suggest things to me and I say them,” he
returned. “Sometimes I don’t.” This reassured me somewhat, for I
had frequently noticed that a thought strongly in my mind seemed
to delay the pencil, yet was not written.
Returning for a moment to the discussion of politics, Cass asked:
“By reason of our different environment, am I not more interested in
large details, and you in large movements?”
“There can be no real movement without a mass of detail. Here
we are interested equally in both. They are inseparable.”
“You said yesterday that the seed had been sown and the harvest
not yet garnered. Has the seed generally been good seed?”
“There is no telling how much of it will come up. There has been
seed, good, bad, and indifferent, sown in all sorts of soil. The crop is
not foreordained. We work and hope.”
“Is there anything in this life to any degree a counterpart of what
you have there?” his mother inquired. “Or is it something so wholly
new that we can’t even imagine it?”
“It is so much more expansive, so much more beautiful and free,
that we can give you no conception of it.”
“Perhaps it’s better that we shouldn’t know,” it was suggested;
and Frederick’s reply seems to hold a hint of humor.
“It might make you envious.”
When I wondered what became of suicides, Cass said, “They
probably get the purgatory he mentioned yesterday.”
“That’s what they get; and it’s a long, hard road back to
mental....” The pencil hesitated. After some efforts to write a word
beginning with p or f—we were uncertain which—Mrs. Gaylord
suggested, “Poise?”
“... poise. Yes.”
“Is there unconsciousness at first, when you go over?” she asked.
“It depends on circumstances and persons. Sometimes there is a
period of unconsciousness. I was conscious from the first moment,
and so happy to be here.” When Cass interpreted this to mean that
he greatly preferred being there, he corrected: “No, to be free. But
for the first weeks I was dazed by the bigness of it.”
Later in the afternoon Frederick discussed with his mother various
personal matters, with a good deal of humor. Afterward, more
seriously, he continued: “You’ll do better work, and be more open to
suggestion from me, if you don’t dull yourself by too constant
harping on one chord. Play a little, you and Dad.”
She told him they had not been happy enough to play.
“You will be happier now. Tell Dad few men are as near their sons
as he is to me. He and all of you have only to learn to recognize me,
when I am trying to tell you I am there.”
We spoke of her desire to receive his communications through her
own pencil and he said that if she would “keep on trying and
believing,” he could talk directly to her before long, as he has since
demonstrated.
“It is difficult for us to overcome doubt in a messenger,” he said.
“Faith is a positive force. It helps us reach you. Doubt, being
negative, hampers us.”
This reminded me of Mary Kendal’s first personal message to me,
“Believe.”
“Are you hampered by my doubt to-day?” I asked.
“No. That is not doubt of us, but of yourself. It is a safeguard.”
At this point we went to dinner. Later in the evening, when we had
returned to the pencil, Cass said:
“You were facetious last night, Frederick, so perhaps I may ask if
you have dined?”
“I’ve had a feast of reason, thank you,” was the instant retort.
Asked whether the different races were represented where he
was, he replied: “We have groups. People naturally divide
themselves. But not actual race distinction.” When Cass explained
that he had wondered whether peoples of widely differing religious
beliefs, Christians, Confucians, Mohammedans, and so on, would be
together there, Frederick continued: “Certainly. Each group does its
work more or less in its own way, but all to the same purpose.” Here
again is a clear reference to conditions and forces of which we had
then no knowledge and concerning which, apparently, he had at that
time no authority to speak in detail.
Mrs. Gaylord was sitting in silence, at a little distance from the
table. After a pause, Frederick began again, as if in answer to some
unspoken thought:
“Mother dearest, you will get what you are asking from me when
we are all more accustomed. Margaret is afraid to let me handle her.”
I said that the Kendal episode the night before had disturbed me,
and that I had been careful all day not to yield to any impulse in the
pencil unless it were very definite, to which he returned: “That’s all
right. You be as careful as you like, as long as you don’t deny us.”
Cass asked whether he could put us in touch with a friend on his
plane, one David Bruce.
“Mary Kendal can. That is part of her work. Mother dearest, you
won’t backslide?”
Mrs. Gaylord turned astonished eyes on me, asking: “Is ‘backslide’
a part of your ordinary vocabulary?” When I assured her that it was
not, she laughed, saying that it was “a Gaylord word.” “I’m not sure
that I won’t backslide when I get home again, away from these daily
messages,” she said.
“Then you come to us—Margaret and me. We’ll fix you!” He drew
a circle around this, as if to emphasize it. When she wondered
whether she might not find a messenger nearer home to give her
occasional help, he added: “You can get help, but you can’t trust
everybody.”
The pencil was moving slowly, with many false starts and delays. I
asked whether he would prefer planchette, and he said he would, so
his mother went to her room to get it, while Mary Kendal talked to
us about Manse. As soon as planchette was placed on the table,
however, Frederick took possession again, moving it briskly back and
forth, in a space of about six inches, as if warming it up. Mrs.
Gaylord was then sitting opposite me, and Cass to the right, some
distance away.
Suddenly planchette swung sharply down to the lower right-hand
corner of the table, from my position, and addressing Mrs. Gaylord
directly—that is, writing from right to left and upside down from my
viewpoint, so that his mother sitting opposite me read it as it came—
Frederick wrote rapidly and strongly:
“Mother dearest, this is your boy, come back to stay.”
We were astounded. Given a fresh surface, planchette raced all
over the sheet, in energetic circles and flourishes. It ran toward me,
point first, as if it would leap off the table, paused, wheeled, crossed
toward Mrs. Gaylord, retreated, darted to where her hand lay on the
papers, followed as she moved it, and then resumed its apparently
meaningless tracing of angles and circles. When I said that I did not
understand this performance, the reply came with a whirl, followed
by one of his big flourishes.
“I am trying to show you that I am running this myself!” Then,
very rapidly, upside down again to me: “You can’t doubt this. Even
Margaret can’t doubt this.”
“I haven’t doubted that you were here, Frederick,” I said.
“No, but you’ve got to believe in me.”
Again I placed the instrument at my left, in readiness to write, as
usual, across the sheet, but he had not finished. Swinging down to
the right, and moving toward the left, once more reversed from my
point of view, he wrote: “Mother dearest.” Then he ran to the upper
right-hand corner and wrote along that edge of the table: “Now I’ll
do it this way, Mr. L——.” In circles and flourishes he crossed, to
write along the left edge: “Now I’ll do it this way.” Up then, to the
edge opposite me. “Now I’ll do it this way.”
By this time the paper was completely covered with interlacing
lines and words, except a narrow margin along the right edge.
Sliding over to this, he wrote, slowly, “Now are you convinced?”
We were amazed, breathless, and all somewhat moved by his
determination to demonstrate his presence.
Circling again to the center, already so covered with lines that we
had to watch the pencil-point to make out the message, he said:
“Now get the pencil.”
“Did I show you then who is running this?” he demanded, when I
had complied with his request. “Mother dearest, when you are
inclined to backslide, remember that little exhibition, and ask
yourself how you can doubt any manifestation of me that you
perceive.”
Mrs. Gaylord said that it was peculiarly characteristic of Frederick
to insist upon making his point, and in one way or another to
succeed.
“Dad won’t need to see that,” Frederick stated, when Cass wished
that his father might have witnessed this extraordinary performance,
“but if he does, I’ll do it for him with trimmings.... He has not lost a
son in any but the most superficial sense. Tell Sis I’ll do stunts for
her, too, if she’ll come where Margaret is, and Babe can have her
own show, too.”
Again Mrs. Gaylord gasped, for he had used his own intimate
names for his sisters, neither of which I had ever heard before.
“Now were really getting down to business,” he remarked,
presently. “I had to convince Margaret before she would loosen up.”
Cass began to explain that it had not been necessary to convince
me, but before he was fairly started the pencil ran on: “Yes, it was.
She didn’t quite believe I was running this show. Now she’s nice and
amenable.” Verily, all resistance had been taken out of me!
Thereafter he had his own way with the pencil.
Cass began another question, but broke off, saying that it was not
fair to keep Frederick answering impersonal inquiries when he
wanted to talk to his mother.
“That’s what it’s all for,” was the candid admission. “The L——s are
all right, but it’s for Mother dearest and the Family that I’m here....
This isn’t exactly what religious people call heaven, but it is life
eternal in the biggest sense. But I can’t be quite happy in it unless
you whom I love so much are happy, too. Don’t you backslide! Only
let me have a chance, and I’ll keep you convinced; but doubt is the
hardest thing to combat because it destroys the very proof we are
trying to bring against it. Believe every suggestion of me until it is
proved false.”
One of us asked whether their greatest difficulties in
communicating with us were caused by doubt or by dishonest
messengers.
“Both. It is hard to find a good messenger, but, having found one,
doubt is apt to destroy all his work.”
“All four points of the compass, Mother dearest.” This we took to
be an allusion to his writing along the four edges of the table, earlier
in the evening. “You see, we have not much time left, and you must
go home fortified and happy, and glad for yourself and me.... It will
mean a lot to Dad. He has thought I was in some remote and far-off
heaven, and he will like to know that we are working more nearly
shoulder to shoulder than ever before, as we are in some ways.... I
want to talk to him straight.” Long afterward one of his sisters told
me that “shoulder to shoulder” was a characteristic phrase of
Frederick’s.
Again sliding over to the lower right-hand corner, he wrote quickly,
in big swinging script, upside down to me: “Mother dearest, don’t
forget the four points of the compass. I want you to remember that
I am your boy come back. Not lost at all. Please remember that.”
When a fresh surface offered and the pencil was placed at my left,
as usual, he said, “No,” and swung once more down to the right,
writing quickly and firmly toward the left and upside down to me.
“I am going to write a little letter to Dad and the girls. I love them
just as well as ever, and it hurts me to have them think I am not
alive and loving them, because I know they still love me.
“Frederick.”
Although the movement in this reversed writing is rapid and
definite, as if great energy were exerted to accomplish it, it is
extremely difficult to follow, perhaps because the muscles of the
hand are accustomed to move from left to right in writing, or
because the mind instinctively resists a movement it cannot readily
understand.
V
The next day (Monday, March 11th) we all returned to New York
together, Mrs. Gaylord rejoining us in the evening, after dining with
other friends.
Before her arrival, we talked a little to Mary Kendal, who was still
uneasy about the failure to reach her husband, from whom no word
had come. We asked if she knew David Bruce, and she replied: “No,
but he is here, and most of us know what he does. He is a sweet
force.”
When Mrs. Gaylord came, we told her of this characterization,
after some personal talk with Frederick, and at once he took up the
suggestion.
“Mother dearest, you are a sweet force, too. Help me build a
structure of strength, which is Dad, sweetness, which is you, and
illumination, which is my part.”
We remembered then his asking her to “clear away the débris of
things outlived and begin the new structure with me,” but not until
greater revelations followed did we understand fully what he meant.
A little later he said of his father: “He will discover that I am more
a force than ever, and then he will be as proud as men who have
sons ‘over there.’ ... Should you prefer a son in the trenches or in the
place of accomplished peace?... I am nearer you now than I have
ever been before, but the price of that is apparent separation. Your
life knows no such companionship as ours can be now, but that is
possible only at the cost of apparent and visible contact. This is gain,
not loss. You are questioning that, but trust me. I know. You can’t
even guess what this means to all of us, Sis and Babe and Dad and
you and
“Frederick.”
His name was dropped a line, like a signature.
It was coming slowly, with hesitations and false starts, and I
asked: “Are you tired, Frederick? Or am I?”
“Both,” he said. “This is not the simplest thing I ever did.... I am
not tired, as you understand weariness, but it is easier sometimes to
get things through than others.”
The next evening—the last we had with Frederick at that time—his
first messages were personal, expressing his desire to “talk straight”
to other members of the family.
“But there’s no hurry,” he went on. “We’ve all eternity together
now.... Only one thing can separate us. If you doubt my existence, I
shall still exist, but your doubt will destroy the thread that links us
like a telegraph-wire, only more closely and warmly. So you must not
backslide, for my sake as well as your own.”
“Why don’t you stay on?” he asked presently. “I can reach you,
but not so definitely for a while to your sense, and actual speech
with you is keen joy. Tell Dad ...”—the erasure is his own—“... the
family I want to talk to them, too. Let’s have a reunion. One that
won’t leave me out. I want to be in.” Rapidly and strongly, he
underlined the last words three times.
His mother promised that the family festivals should be held again,
in the full consciousness that he was there with them.
“Thank you, Mother dearest. You don’t know how we hate being
left out.” When she explained that they were “left out” ignorantly,
rather than intentionally, he continued: “No, we know you don’t
mean to leave us out. But you—and we, too—would be so much
happier if you knew we were there and we could know you were not
grieving. You see, we are really nearer to you than you are to each
other, and only memory tells us why you grieve. There is no reason
for grief in what you call death and we call knowledge.”
“Why hasn’t all this been told to us before?” she demanded. “It
was cruel not to let us know it!”
“As I wrote you the other day, not everybody has been prepared
for the knowledge. It is known only to the few—those first over the
top I spoke of. But it will be the next great revelation. As well say it
was cruel not to have known chloroform in the Middle Ages, when it
was sorely needed, or wireless telegraphy in the Napoleonic wars.
There is an evolution of soul, as well as of biology and chemistry.
Many fine souls have still lacked this peculiar preparation.”
This started a little discussion between us. One said that many
persons had lost faith in the orthodox religions, thus making the
need of a new revelation great. Another spoke disparagingly of the
modern theory of a pervasive and impersonal energy, from which we
come and to which we return, losing individuality. At this point
Frederick took the lead again.
“Don’t you let them fool you! There is no such thing as Bergson’s
stream of energy, unless every individual of us is a well-defined drop
in the stream. That is all a philosopher’s dream, coated with poetry
and tinctured with science.”
Mrs. Gaylord said she had never heard of Frederick’s reading
Bergson, and I mentioned that I had read nothing of his, except one
article in a review.
“I never read Bergson, either, but you could not live in the world,
or pick up a Sunday supplement, some years ago, without
encountering that stream of energy.”
“There speaks the newspaper man!” his mother said, laughing.
During all these talks with Frederick he had frequently made the
little retraced circle, which we had been told meant joy. He made it
again now, with vigor, and some one suggested that he seemed
excited.
“Wouldn’t it excite you to get into actual touch with your family,
after long doubt and pain? I am no angel, you know, and thank God
I am not above being excited. When I am I will be dead!” Again he
underscored a word.
Mrs. Gaylord spoke of her feeling of his presence, of his
characteristic personality, saying that he seemed “just the same.”
“Plus, Mother dear. You’d like me better now. I don’t mean that I
am perfect, you know. I’ve got more to learn than I ever knew
existed, but I can see ahead now. And you would like me better.... I
didn’t say love me better,” he added.
We talked about the force moving the pencil, which on this
occasion was very strongly applied, though I was greatly fatigued by
the efforts of the past few days, and I asked Frederick whether he
could move it without my co-operation. But he said, “Only as you
hold it.” To a suggestion that he expressed himself not through the
pencil, but through me, he replied, “She is like the battery.”
From the first Mrs. Gaylord had been experimenting with
planchette and pencil, hoping to establish direct communication with
Frederick. While placing more emphasis on a possible communion of
thought, without material aid, he had encouraged these efforts.
“Mother, you can do it, I am sure,” he said once, “but don’t expect
much fluency for some time. I have not written except through
Margaret yet, but they tell me she is exceptionally sensitive as a
messenger.”
Referring to this, he was asked whether others, not known to me
personally, had desired to communicate through me, and replied:
“No, but they have watched her, this last week.” Ten days later, when
the most amazing of all the communications began to come, we
remembered this. After enumerating some of the qualifications of a
good messenger, he said: “When that combination is found we are
all interested, if we want to reach our own people.”
“Are you over there especially interested in reaching your own
families and friends, or in reaching persons who might be interested
in the possibility of these communications?”
“Both. But if you have ever been unable to communicate with
those you love, for months and years, and have known they were
suffering, then you know which interest is keenest. The one is
immediate and urgent, the other more or less a matter of evolution.”
“Shall I try to talk to some of you occasionally?” I asked. “Or shall
I wait for a call?”
“You are over the top. We shall be glad to come.”
“Can you let me know, if you have something to say through me?”
“Not always. Sometimes we can suggest the thought to you.”
Since that time, however, a more perfect connection has been
established and I am often conscious of a definite summons. On
these occasions the pencil starts at once, generally with great vigor,
and almost always writes some message not conveyed to my
consciousness except as I spell it out after the pencil.
Toward the end of the evening, when Mrs. Gaylord had suggested
going back to her hotel, the pencil made a little circle and some
apparently aimless marks inside it.
“Is this Frederick?” I asked, wondering at indecision from him.
“Yes. I want to do something Mother can’t forget.... You don’t
need any more fancy stunts, do you?”
She said she did not, but that she was very tired and could stay
no longer.
“Oh, don’t go!” he begged. “I’ll go with you, but I like gassing this
way.” Another characteristic phrase, she said.
After some further assurances of his frequent presence and
constant watchfulness, she said she really must go. Frederick then
moved the pencil down to the right corner again, and wrote, very
clearly and carefully, one more “upside-down” message—a touching
little message of love to “dear Dad and the girls,” which he signed,
“Your boy, Frederick.”
The next day Mrs. Gaylord went home, where she immediately
destroyed all her black-bordered cards and stationery and similar
symbols of mourning. She wrote me that she felt it was false and
wicked to mourn for a son as vitally alive and happy as she now
knew Frederick to be.
VI
One of my letters to Mr. Kendal had been marked “Urgent.” On the
day of Mrs. Gaylord’s departure a telegram came from him, asking
that a duplicate of this letter be sent to him at Chicago. It developed
later that all my missives, after some delay, had been forwarded
from his club to his business address in the South, where, owing to
the uncertainty of his plans, his secretary had held them, notifying
him by wire of the one evidently demanding immediate attention.
After some hesitation—reluctant to shock him by a bald and
startling announcement unaccompanied by any explanation of a
situation concerning which I was convinced he would be skeptical, if
not wholly unsympathetic, and yet impelled by his wife’s distressed
insistence to reach him before he should go South again—I
telegraphed him that I had reason to believe I had been in direct
communication for several days with Mary and others, and asked
him to return via New York, if possible.
Early that evening I took up a pencil, which moved at once.
“Manzie has your message.”
This could be no one but Mary Kendal. To my inquiry concerning
his reception of my telegram she replied: “He is startled. He is wiring
you.” An expression of her happiness followed, concluding, “He is
thinking of me ... and I can help him.”
“Can’t you help him unless he is thinking of you?”
Apparently this presented difficulties, but after long effort and
many false starts she achieved what I felt to be only a part of the
answer she had intended. “On power I can.”
“You mean that you can influence his work? His strength, or
accomplishment?”
“Yes, but not his heart and soul.” After assurances that he would
come soon, she thanked me touchingly.
Later in the evening she said, “Manzie is so amazed!” When I
asked whether he believed it, she returned: “He does now. He has
thought....” Details personal to him followed.
Still later I asked whether Mr. Kendal had telegraphed me, and she
said that he had not, though he had intended to do so. As a matter
of fact, he had not at that time received my telegram, but he
afterward told me that when it reached him, twelve hours later, his
reactions were exactly as she had described them. Also, his intention
of telegraphing me immediately was delayed several hours by
business necessities. This is one of several instances when a
difference of plane has seemed to enable them to look ahead for a
limited space and foretell events.
The next morning, for the first time in ten days, the pencil was
merely a piece of dead wood between my fingers, without impulse.
After long delay it moved slowly, making light circles, but no words
came.
I knew that Mrs. Gaylord had intended to make an effort that day
to get into touch with Frederick through a semi-professional medium
in her vicinity, and in the evening I took up a pencil, wondering
whether we could learn what success had attended the attempt.
“Mary.”
Supposing this to be Mary Kendal, I made some allusion to
Mansfield, and was immediately corrected.
“No. Mary K.”
This was surprising, as it was the first time she had responded
since my initial effort to establish this intercourse. She said that Mary
Kendal was not present, and that Frederick had met his mother at
Mrs. Z——’s, with results only partially satisfactory—which letters
from the Gaylord family afterward verified. We suggested that this
might have been discouraging, and she replied: “Discouragement is
not for Frederick.”
“How do you know so much about Frederick now?” I asked. “Ten
days ago you said you did not know him.”
“Mrs. Kendal interested me in him. He is for justice, light, and
progress. My work, too.”
To my expressed hope that she found life happier there than it
had been for her here she returned, “Yes, I was glad to come,”
following the statement with the little circle so often used by the
others. She, too, said that it meant joy. We have since learned that it
means much more, but apparently they were educating us by
degrees. In this case the joy was not hers alone, for the renewed
communion with her brought me great gladness.
Our friendship began long ago, in a Western city, whither she had
come in search of health. Both were young, she a few years the
elder. She was alone. I never saw any member of her family, and we
had few friends in common, but between us, from the day we met,
there was a strong bond of sympathy, which grew to deep affection,
notwithstanding many differences between us. She was more widely
read than I; I more actively in touch with life than she. She was a
church woman; I was not. Her point of view was Eastern, mine at
that time entirely Western. Our many disagreements were argued
warmly and at length, but at bottom each knew that she could draw
at will upon whatever strength or resource the other possessed, and
the debt in the end was mine, when her death left a blank to which I
could never be quite reconciled.
Her brief career seemed to contradict the law of compensation,
upon which, until recently, my philosophy of life has been based.
Meticulously truthful, scrupulous in all things, strong of purpose,
giving of her best to life, life passed her by with a shrug. Keenly
sensitive to beauty, whether spiritual, intellectual, or material, she
was hampered in its pursuit by limited health and limited means. For
years she struggled with uncongenial employment of one sort or
another, denying herself the loaf she needed to procure the hyacinth
she needed more. Longing for life at its fullest and richest, she
scarcely touched its margin. Yearning for high peaks and wide
outlook, she lived always on the plain. When, finally, the path
seemed to be opening before her and she was pleasantly
established, doing a healing and constructive work for which she
was fitted, she died suddenly, still baffled, having given the last
proof of her love for humanity by yielding her life for it, worn out by
hard work, combating an epidemic in a college town.
Rejoiced to learn that at last she was happy, I asked whether she
could tell us of her work, and she began, easily: “Yes, on the ... on
... on the....” After long difficulty she accomplished it. “On the
perpetual tour.”
When she had verified this astonishing statement as correct, I
suggested, “‘Off ag’in, on ag’in, gone ag’in’?”
“That’s it.” For an eager spirit like Mary K.’s no happier heaven
could be imagined.
Replying to further questions, she said that it was not just luck
that I had caught her that first night. No, neither had she come to
me from the other side of the world. “I’ve been working on you for a
month,” she said. “Ever since V—— was here.” It was considerably
more than a month, but time and place seem to have little
significance to those on her plane.
Shortly after this Annie Manning interrupted again. It was said
that Mary K. knew Annie Manning and wished me to find her brother.
Inquiry developed the fact that he was the brother mentioned the
first night I used planchette. His name was given as James Manning,
and his address, Albany, New York. “United States Ho....” We could
not get beyond that. At one time the word seemed to be “Hotel.”
Unable to find any United States Hotel listed in Albany, I suggested
Saratoga, but this was not accepted. Repeatedly asked to write to
him, I could obtain no address.
Afterward the address was given as Albany, but not New York.
Long efforts to write the name of the state resulted in “I ...,” ending
in wavy lines. Suggestions of Illinois and Iowa brought negatives,
but the mention of Indiana was greeted with a quick, “Yes.” Vain and
fatiguing efforts to get the rest of the address resulted in the
indefinite “United States Ho ...” and at last I gave it up,
disappointed.
An hour later Annie Manning came again, but I asked her to let
me talk to Mary K.
“Here! Mary K.,” was the prompt response. “Do you remember all
the good times?” I told her I did, and thought of them often. “All the
many ae ... an....” There I lost it. She began it many times, in many
ways, apparently trying to get a momentum that would carry her
through. “All the many am ... I mean ae ... I meant to say anm....”
Too tired to continue, again I abandoned the attempt.
Annie Manning came once more, making futile efforts to give me
her brother’s address. She finally said it was “just United States
Home.” Once she wrote, “just Home.” And once, “Honest, that’s all.”
I have never learned the whole truth about Annie Manning, who
ceased, after the first fortnight, to manifest herself; whether
because she lacked perseverance or because other influences were
already at work, I do not know.
The next day I took up the pencil, expecting Mary Kendal, with
news of her husband, but Mary K.’s strong, underlined signature
greeted me instead. She said that Mr. Kendal was coming, adding:
“On cen ... cent....”
“Century?” I suggested. “Twentieth Century Limited?”
“No ... cen ... ce ... cent....” Finally, she agreed to Century—
compromised on it, I learned later. Within five minutes a telegram
came from Mr. Kendall—the first word I had received from him—
saying that he would arrive in New York Sunday or Monday.
When I told him of this experience he exclaimed: “Central! New
York Central!” Which, for some reason, had not occurred to me. At
the hour when Mary K. gave me this information he had ordered, at
his club in Chicago, a ticket for the Lake Shore Limited—like the
Twentieth Century, a New York Central train. Later, having the ticket
actually in his possession, he telegraphed me that he would come by
that train, reaching New York Sunday evening, but afterward
changed to another road.
This second message arrived Saturday afternoon, and I at once
inquired of Mary K. why she had said “Century.” Instead of her
familiar signature, however, “Frederick” was written.
Having ascertained that this was Frederick himself, and not a
message about him, I asked him to go on.
“The Family are happy.” At no time during this brief interview had
I the slightest inkling of what was coming. As he had been always so
courteous in acknowledgment, the first letters led me to think he
was beginning his customary “Thank you.” Saying that their
happiness added greatly to my own, I asked if he had anything else
to say.
“Yes. At your service.... At the next large family reunion you both
will be present, won’t you?”
I said we would try to be, and again he wrote his name, indicating
that he had nothing more to say, whereupon I called Mary K.,
reproached her for inaccuracy, and asked why she had said
Mansfield Kendal would come by the Century.
Apparently despairing of penetrating such density, she replied,
merely: “He wanted to leave to-day.” Later in the afternoon she said,
“He will be perfectly ready to believe,” which seemed to me highly
improbable.
Some things written that afternoon came to my mind before they
did to my fingers, and I asked whether she could not write the
messages without first telling me what they were to be.
“Yes,” she returned, “but it is harder for us and more exhausting
for you.” Weeks afterward, when this separate control of mind and
pencil had been more fully demonstrated, it was more fully
explained.
Remembering her statement that her work took her “on perpetual
tour,” I asked how long she would be here.
“I shall be near you for months,” she said, and then began again
her never wholly relinquished effort to write the message first
attempted two days before. “Ao ... an ... aon ... aem ... aeons ago
...”—here she made a frantic little joy circle—“... we were lovers.”
This surprised me, for it seemed unlike her and was absolutely
foreign to my thought, but when she had verified it, I asked: “Is
reincarnation true, then?”
“No. Aeons ago ... I was a friend of yours in ——.” She mentioned
a person whom I have known all my life. Again this seemed utter
nonsense, but again she verified it. “We were concerned in being
more and more curiously limited ... more and more animal.” Some of
this came readily, some with halting and false starts, which—like
Frederick—she crossed out herself.
At first this, too, seemed devoid of meaning, but after a little
thought I asked whether she meant that we had been associated in
some way as pure spirit.
“Everybody was pure spirit once, and will be again,” was the rapid
reply.
“Is this life a punishment, then?”
“No, a beginning of individuality.”
“Does the individual continue to exist forever?”
“Yes.”
“As pure spirit?”
“Yes.”
“Then how were we associated as pure spirit?”
“We were the same purpose.”
Completely puzzled, I asked, “Why do you say we were friends in
——?”
“He was the larger purpose, of which we were a part.”
“The original purpose is not all the same, then?”
“No, there are many purposes in the beginning, but only one in
the end.”
“Does Frederick know all this?”
“All of it.”
When she said good night, she added, “God bless you,” and I
asked: “Mary K., how do you see God? Frederick sees Him as light in
dark places.”
“Justice, light, progress.”
“Is that God, or God’s work?”
“Tested.”
“You mean that you have tested it?”
“Yes.”
The next day, Sunday—two weeks from the day she had first
talked to me through planchette—she returned to this theme, which
still seemed somewhat fantastic to my practical and pragmatical
mind, with further allusions to our long association.
During the days of confusion and uncertainty before Mr. Kendal
replied to my telegram, when his wife constantly implored me to
write to him again, and I as constantly refused, insisting that she
first show cause why she had misled me about his movements and
whereabouts, I wrung from her an admission that in some way he
had put her so far from him that she neither knew nor could learn
anything about him, except that he suffered and needed her, which
both Mary K. and Frederick verified. I said once to Mary K. that it
was incredible that this could be, to which she laconically returned,
“It can.” After his actual receipt of my telegram, Mary Kendal never
returned to me until she came with him, and the character of her
earlier banishment, and consequent inability to perceive his
movements, was still unexplained.
As the hour of his arrival approached I grew uneasy, and asked
Mary K. whether he came happily or in dread.
“Certainly with o”—the joy circle, and as we have since learned,
the circle of completion.
When I asked her to write it out in full to reassure me, the pencil
ran back, underscoring “certainly.” She said further that Mary Kendal
was with him, and very happy.
“Has Mary Kendal been very unhappy?” I asked.
“No. Aeons ago they were one purpose.”
“What has that to do with it?”
“She knew that he must answer if she could reach him.”
“Does that hold good of evil purpose, too?”
“Yes.”
VII
It seemed to me that if Mr. Kendal had not received my letters,
and was in possession only of the meager information contained in
my telegram, it was best that he should read the record of the
earlier interviews with his wife before coming to communicate with
her, and to that end the book containing the whole story was to be
sent to his club before his arrival. Having decided this, it occurred to
me to consult Mary K., who emphatically negatived the plan.
“No. Mary Kendal is most anxious to tell him herself now.” She told
us to make brief explanations, adding: “All he needs now is Mary
Kendal.”
Shortly afterward Mary K.’s now familiar summons—an
indescribable sensation in the arm or hand—recalled me to the
pencil, and she wrote, quickly and firmly: “Mary Kendal wants you to
change your record.”
Surprised, I asked what change she wished, and was told to take
out everything relating to her banishment from Mansfield’s life,
because she preferred to tell him that in her own way.
“Shall I show him the record at all?” I asked.
“Yes, but take that out first.” Fortunately, the record is kept in a
loose-leaf, typewritten book, so this was not difficult.
As the day wore on I grew more and more nervous. Suppose he
should be more hurt than helped? Suppose we should fail? Rarely in
my life have I dreaded anything so much, or felt so little confidence
in anything I had deliberately undertaken to do. By nine o’clock I
was in a nervous chill. Meanwhile Mr. Kendal telephoned that he had
found my letters, which had been returned to his club, and that he
would join us presently.
Upon his arrival he told us that he had been one of the early
members of the Society for Psychical Research in this country, and
had spent several years investigating phenomena of this nature,
together with various other young men, under the general
supervision of Prof. William James, Dr. Minot Savage, and others of
that group. He mentioned some of the frauds and self-deceptions
uncovered at that time, but said he believed the ultimate conclusion
to have been that there were certain well-authenticated phenomena
for which no logical or scientific explanation had been found.
Nothing that he said, however, indicated to the slightest degree
his attitude toward the question in hand, and I received an
impression that his mood was critical, which steadied me. The
disappointment, should we fail, would be less hideous. In the end,
he suggested a trial, and after preparing the table, Cass left us
alone.
The pencil started almost immediately, with a strange, jerkily
rhythmical movement—due possibly to Mary’s agitation, possibly to
mine, but wrote very distinctly, without pause or faltering. It was
evident at once that the message conveyed more to him than its
words suggested.
Much later in the evening he told me that for some time after
Mary left him he had believed that if she still existed anywhere in the
universe she would contrive somehow to let him know; but as
months had passed into years, with no sign from her, while never
entirely losing faith in the continued integrity of the individual after
death, his despair had deepened with his growing conviction that
“the drop that was Mary” had been swept on in the stream and
forever lost to him. Widely read in philosophies and unable to forget
them, steeped—despite his practical occupation—in scientific and
intellectual theory, he had feared to rely upon a reunion in a future
of which no proof had been given him, lest he be grounding his faith
in the sands of his own hope.
It was to this unhappy conviction—a conviction so strong in its
negation that for a time she had been unable to penetrate in any
way the psychic atmosphere it created—that she addressed herself
in those first written lines. She used, also, her intimate name for
him, which I had never heard, and his for her, which I knew,
although I supposed the peculiar spelling used on this occasion to be
an error, until he told me otherwise.
He asked one or two questions about personal matters, which I
assumed to be in the nature of tests, which she answered briefly,
though not very specifically, concluding: “I cannot tell you anything
to-night, except that I am so happy. I had lost you, and you are
found again. Let me talk to you to-morrow.”
Some time later he wanted to know why he could not read her
mind direct, and she replied: “You can, in time, if you will let me in,
and learn. We can have such communion as we never had before,
because one veil is now removed. But that will take time to learn. It
is true. It can be.... Take me into your heart and soul joyfully,
without resentment or grief, and you will soon learn to read my
thoughts as I have read yours since I seemed to leave you.
“Then I can tell you things that I cannot say through any
messenger.... You can learn.... All I want now is to convince you that
I am alive and longing to be with you and to have communication
directly with you. It is impossible for me to do that alone. But I had
to reach you somehow, and Margaret was the first way I found.”
We talked a little of the possibility of his establishing direct
communication with her. I asked whether he could use a pencil in
this way, and she returned: “Yes, if he will try every day, he could in
time, I think. There is always a way for us to reach our dearest ones,
if they only persevere.”
During a pause, with the pencil-point still resting on the paper, I
told him of Mary K.’s assertion that eons ago some of us had been
one and that we still continue one in purpose. Mary Kendal took it up
immediately.
“Manzie, you and I are the same purpose. That is the reason that,
once reunited, we cannot be separated, except by our deliberate
yielding to a different and disintegrating purpose. That is the eternal
battle—between the purposes of progress and building and the
purposes of disintegration. It goes on in your life, and it goes on less
bitterly in ours. Help me build, as we began, toward the great
unity.... All of us here are working against those forces of
disintegration so rife in your life now, and every bit of retention of
unity that is for upbuilding helps us and helps the great purpose for
which we work.... You and I began working for that long ago, and
each of us will always continue to work for it. But we shall be
happier if we do it consciously together.... Don’t think of me as far
away.... We will welcome to our unity anything or anybody who
strengthens the purpose, but let us always hold fast to each other.”
Here was the first actual statement, however brief and
incomplete, of that theory of life which seems—to us who received it
first, at least—so rational, and so full of inspiration and hope.
Referring to her phrase, “all of us here,” he asked: “Is ‘here’ a
place, or a state, or both?”
“Both,” she answered, quickly. “It is the beginning of eternal life.”
After a moment, she added: “The state is fluid; the place is
ephemeral.”
“I believe it!” he exclaimed. “That’s more nearly an explanation
than anything I ever heard before.”
“This is more nearly the truth than anything you ever heard
before. That’s why.... Truth in your life is comparative. Here it is
absolute, but not dogmatic.”
He said that she had not been given to the use of a philosophic
vocabulary in this life, and must have acquired it there, to which, at
the moment, she made no response.
Some time after Cass rejoined us Mr. Kendal asked how much
farther, or how much more clearly, they could see about purely
business or political matters than we.
“We can see much farther, but we are not permitted to tell you,
except by ethical suggestion. Part of your development comes
through your struggle to decide, and while we see your struggle, we
can help only by giving you as much of our strength and light as you
can take. It is a moral universe, Manzie.” The underscoring is hers.
Out of his wide experience with psychic phenomena, he gave me
much comfort regarding the inaccuracies and misleading statements
that had so greatly disquieted me. He argued that these
discrepancies might easily be caused by some factor or factors
unknown to us, operating on another plane, and was entirely
untroubled by them. In this connection, Mary K. said to me the next
day: “We regard things successfully started as accomplished.”
[Some weeks later Mr. Kendal suggested another possible reason
for these apparent inaccuracies, using as a comparison a familiar
experiment in physics. He reminded us that if a rod be projected in a
straight line between the eye and a coin at the bottom of a bowl of
water, its tip will miss the coin by a distance varying with the angle
of vision and the depth of the water. Assuming that the difference
between this plane and the next must be vastly greater than that
between air and water, he argued that there might be a factor
comparable to this deflection of ray influencing their perception of
material, specific details of this plane—a simile which Mary K.
subsequently characterized as “almost perfect.”]
It was three o’clock in the morning when Mr. Kendal left us to
return to his club—but he went convinced. Like Mrs. Gaylord, his
confidence was inspired not only by the temper and tenor of the
messages he had received, but by the accompanying consciousness
of a familiar personality, akin to the certainty of identity one feels in
talking to a friend by telephone or in reading a characteristic letter.
Like her, too, he said that in several instances his unspoken thought
had been directly answered.
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade
Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.
ebookgate.com