Abby's journal

 

 

April 21, 2018

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Steve, seeing that my reader numbers have shot up lately, thinks we should explain a little more about my seeming "goof" the other day, about the piano chair. (Probably, people are reading the earlier, more "interesting" entries, anyway, and are less concerned about the old chair.) I'm amenable, so long as we make it clear he instigated it.

Have you seen the famous mediums be wrong, on TV? They aren't usually wrong in the sense that skeptics think they are wrong. They got the right symbol; but they put the wrong interpretation on it. That's why, for example, John Edward will see the number "12," and say, "either the 12th month, or the 12th of a month." In our case,...I have to back up, and say that the strength of our connection rests on a slightly different basis, or rather, emphasis. Steve is marginally psychic, in the way of clairsentience; but the rest of the strength of the signal is made up by our close soul-mate rapport. We don't have a team on this side amplifying the signal, or taking turns amplifying it. But it is like soul-mates everywhere--we can feel each other's thoughts. It was so when we were both in-body, as well. No-doubt you have experienced this. It works after the death of one partner, folks. Just like it worked when both were on earth, only more so.

And it can be developed.

So, subjectively, what Steve experiences is my energy, my closeness, along with thoughts that I impinge on his subconscious mind. I don't like the term "subconscious mind," because it is not quite as it is popularly conceived to be. But it will do, here, to convey the general idea of how this works.

I have to follow along with what Steve writes stream-of-consciousness. What should I do, cut off all communication when he goes on a side-track? Of course not. I continue with him, responding to whatever he is thinking and writing, trying to bring it back on track by a forward motion. I guide the discussion back on track, in other words; I don't usually try to absolutely block anything.

So, suppose (just suppose) he gets tricked by a saleswoman into buying a piano stool chair from the early 1900's, when she insists that it is from our era, the early 1800's. It wouldn't be the first time, let me tell you--including when we were together, then! Oh, the things he would bring home, which I had to appear to be happy about in order not to hurt his feelings! Because he was like a puppy dog, so eager to please me, that I couldn't hurt him. But that is another story...*

So suppose he has done this, again. I tell him I am pleased with the chair, and that it reminds me of when he would stand behind me, turning pages as I played. This is true. But he, putting this together with his fond conviction that the chair might be our chair, has me hint that it is. Do you understand?

Now, it does happen, quite often, that I turn out to be correct. (This also happened "in the day" quite often ;-). That means the historians may be wrong, after all.

This is why Steve tried his very best to write that last entry honestly, admitting his uncertainty. In all of this, we try to model the method, itself, so that other couples can learn from it, and apply it as they please to their own communications.

Steve has felt for some time that somehow, when we were a bit better off, Mathew did, in fact, manage to procure a piano for me (perhaps, it took up most of our living room?), and that I did play for him. Let's see if Steve can find a passage which might be amusing to you. Here he is, in New York City, and I am quite young, and deeply in love with him. I am so young, that it will hardly do for him to write letters in-kind to me, that my older sisters (and thus my parents) will see! So he writes "around the corner" in his newspaper, the one he is the acting editor for. And what does he want to convey? He wants to ease my burning jealousy. I am desperately afraid that he will find a girl there in New York, one who plays piano as well as I do, or better. I am worried especially about this, because he has praised my piano-playing so. I imagine, you see, that he loves me for my musical ability, when actually, he loves me for myself. But in my young mind, if he loves me for my musical ability (because I am practically a stick figure, so how could I compete on any other terms?), he might find a girl he admires more, there.

So he writes of how annoying it is that his female neighbor "thumps" on the piano! All that is code, to ease my mind about it. Because I already know how he admires my piano-playing, so I know all that part is phony. I know exactly what the message is--"Don't worry, I'm not attracted to any piano-playing girls here."

Now Steve will look for that passage--he should be able to search for the word "thumping" ;-).

Oh, here's an even better one. He is writing to me--but, in-character as "Enoch Timbertoes." In that series of letters, I am "Sally," the younger sister of his friend, "Tim." In actuality, Mathew was friends with my older brother, Francis. When Enoch wrote to Tim, he would often refer to "your Sally"; but here, he is writing Sally, directly. He closes his letter as follows:

Besides waltzin every real New-York lady must know how to play on a pianer. This is a sort of machine made of mahogany and is about as big as a meal-chest, inside of it there are wires so that by thumpin with the fingers on some little blocks outside it makes a kind of music. But to my ears the music of a spinnin wheel is vastly more agreeable, but it would'nt do to tell the gals here so. I should'nt care about marryin one of these pianer gals, cause why? all the pianers in the world wont learn a woman how to darn a coat or make a pudding and whats the use of a wife that dont know how to do that?

You no need to be afeard of my being caught by a New York gal. My notion is still for the New England gals, let em laff as much as they will at their green bonnets and guessing--but I can tell em what it is when they ketch Enoch Timbertoes they catch a weezel aleep. But I wont say no more for fear my letter should get miscarried, or be opened by some peeking Jackson post-master, so good by & believe me

    Yours till Christmas,
      ENOCH TIMBERTOES.

Of course when Enoch says, "I wont say no more," you know what he means--and so did I :-).

The other thing I was mightily worried about was waltzing, a fashion from Europe which had caught hold in New York. The very thought of Mathew doing it put me into a sick fever of jealousy, so Mathew reassured me on that count, as well. But first there was some misunderstanding, inasmuch as Mathew had to have his character get into "scrapes," and make stupid mistakes, and he had to make him less-than-laudible in some respects, by way of example. So "Enoch" would do things Mathew would never do, and until he explained that to me, I got quite upset! But that's another story. Mathew never waltzed with any other girl while he was there, though I am giving Steve the feeling there might have been an exception. You know, if an important person asks you to waltz with his daughter, you can't refuse on principle without displeasing him and making a scene; and sometimes it is ill-advised, for your career, to do that. That kind of thing.

This brings us back around to our original topic, because you can see how our channeling works. Steve got the impression from me, that he couldn't quite say that Mathew never waltzed with a girl in New York--that it wouldn't be quite correct. Now Steve had to think, "What manner of exception?" and he felt the further impression, that if an important man asked Mathew to dance with his daughter, that might be the type of thing I was alluding to.

What if it could be looked up historically, and it wasn't possible (as Steve has channeled it), because Mathew never met any important men at a ball? Well, very simply, Steve did his best. Maybe Mathew told an important visitor that he had never waltzed, and that man said, "Let my daughter show you how." And his employer was standing there, and the important man was visiting from overseas--just suppose--and it would have been very awkward for Mathew to refuse. Maybe it happened like that, and therefore, the fact that it never happened at a ball doesn't prove or disprove the matter.

So maybe Mathew did stand behind me as I played piano, gently resting his hand on the back of a chair, as he turned the pages for me. You see. And what I did was to guide the discussion to something that did, actually, happen in our lives, whether it was that particular piano stool chair, or not. After all, it doesn't matter, to me. What matters is the fond memory, which Steve dimly remembers. It matters to him that it was exactly the same chair, but to me it matters little. What matters is the love we shared when we were doing that.

Just so, I don't need to prove to myself that I really exist, or that we really lived the life of Mathew and Abby, or that we have picked it all up again, as Steve and Abby. I am neither eager to disprove it, nor to defend it. From my perspective, die-hard skeptics are poor deluded creatures, who must be forgiven their paucity of faith. Because that is what it is--a low degree of faith. And we have talked about faith as a thing-in-itself.

Steve feels I want to leave you with a closing thought--but he can't get what that thought is! and he doesn't want to make up one for me.

That is honest channeling. ;-)

Love to each and all,
Abby

*It appears that Mathew and Abby actually co-wrote a humorous story on this very theme, in which a great fuss is made by those in high society about an antique, high-backed chair purchased at a sale, until it turns out to be a commode with the contents still under the seat.--S