As I write this, my mother, age 98, is three days into end-days hospice care. She finally lost the ability to swallow, which, given her "living will" and my choice to go with hospice, means that I am on "vigil." They estimate "a few days." It is nerve-wracking, to say the very least, especially when you know there is something (i.e., IV drip) you could do to alleviate the immediate threat. But then, next comes the inability to breathe. This is far better.
Suddenly, my schedule has gone from incredibly hectic, to ample. Now, the stress is of another kind; and after she passes, when I have to make all the arrangements, it will shift to another kind; and then, when I have to figure out how to subsist on my measly Society Security income, that will be yet another kind of stress. I am tentatively looking at relocating to Portland, Maine, where I lived for some 20 years in the 19th century as Mathew Franklin Whittier. I know you can't go back--I can't even approximate a Maine accent, except for individual words (nor would I attempt to pass myself off as a current New Englander). But the accent, the attitudes, the whole thing feels extremely familiar. Probably, if I tried to relocate in or near Mathew's hometown of Haverhill, Mass., I would become known and deeply resented as the nutcase who imagines he was John Greenleaf Whittier's brother, and dares to criticize their hero. Because JGW is really looked upon as a demi-god there. If someone wants to distinguish a bridge with the highest praise imaginable, he will say, "Whitteah sailed under this bridge."
In the anonymity of a big city like Portland, I probably wouldn't have that problem. I have lived all my adult life in the Bible Belt, and have felt its unseen hand pushing me down in my career. I want to live, as an adult, while I am still young enough to function, in a region where prejudice against my ideas (and even my Greek last name) might not be so stiff.
You can easily see for yourself what kind of internet presence I have, after 20 years of promoting the concept of reincarnation online. Try getting a job with that hanging over you! I will be lucky if I can get employed as the pooper-scooper at the zoo (if they have a zoo). After all, one wouldn't want a nutcase scooping that poop. He might eat it, or throw it at someone.
This morning I keyed in two of the remaining six articles from the "New-England Galaxy" that I suspect of being Mathew's work. I should be able to key in the remaining four today. Then there are six other articles, from the Boston "Chronotype" of 1846. Mathew worked as a reporter--and undercover abolitionist--in New Orleans, for the "Daily Delta," that summer. But what I discovered, by accident, is that he wrote letters to the "Chronotype's" editor, Elizur Wright, while he was en-route by riverboat from Pittsburg (on the Ohio River) to New Orleans (on the Mississippi). He used the unlikely pseudonym, "Cher," which is Creole slang for "darling." It would have been code for his destination, and perhaps assigned to him by Wright, since they were close friends. Mathew, as a radical literary genius deeply committed to the cause of abolition, would have been the editor's "darling," who was risking his life with this assignment.
So I have five of those to copy--plus a little article signed "P.P." I believe I discussed Mathew's use of these initials, and variations, in the previous entry.
That's about it. I am tired of sharing examples here, with no push-back from anybody (and no book sales). Here's the truth of it--with the quality of work I have done, I should be selling enough copies, and generating enough interest, that I should be able to easily move to Portland, rent a place, and have enough left over to travel to conventions, etc. etc. That I am almost completely ignored, is logically either a testimony to how absurd my presentation is, or how far it is ahead of its time. Obviously I assume the latter. That leaves open the possibility that someone will figure it out.
I have in mind to share, in detail, the one strongest proof in my study--the one that even a skeptical Dr. Jim Tucker had to grudgingly admit might have some merit. Of course, the hypocrisy there is that if it does have merit, or even if it might have merit, that should have piqued his interest enough to investigate the case. It is illogical to admit that a past-life memory might have merit, and then go right ahead and dismiss the case as unworthy of investigation. Something else was afoot. I had long indicated to him that he might not want to be publicly associated with me, as it might damage his credibility. Perhaps that's it. We will leave the other possible motivations aside.
But, as said, I am growing tired of sharing these treasures from my book, when I have no sales at all. And there is, frankly, nothing more humiliating than sharing your best, and continuing to be ignored. It is sort of like getting naked in front of your lover for the first time, and having them say, "Humph."
So perhaps I won't, after all. All these things need to be seen in context. Because without the context, you can always generate excuses as to why you don't think it's genuine. But with the context, there is no doubt whatsoever. And this is precisely the thing to be avoided, for anyone in adamant denial.
I am tired of denial, both individually and collectively. It is a disease worse than cancer; an addiction worse than heroin. It is the root disease. I recall that Rumi said, "The heedless are the fodder of hell." What he meant by that is, those who knowingly cling to denial, turn a deaf ear to the advice of the sages, and refuse to learn the life-lessons they incarnated to learn, are creating their own inevitable suffering.
I tried, not too long ago, to tell the Facebook followers of political comedian Lee Camp, when he commented on abortion, that I have it on good authority that the astral body joins the fetus at about 21 weeks, or the time traditionally called "quickening." I was attacked by a slew of Humanists. I tried, patiently, to explain it. Nothing. Nada. Third-term abortions are murder. Up until the time of quickening, it is still no joke, but it would not be murder as it is generally defined.
This is a case in which occult knowledge is crucial for resolving a very important social debate. But even these open-minded liberals won't give me the time of day.
That's a simple thing. It shouldn't be that hard to conceptualize, or to accept. It makes sense when you think about it. The astral body joins with the physical, and suddenly it starts kicking and moving about. What's so difficult about that?
Now, how about someone who tries to present a more advanced research study, with more advanced findings? Even the world expert won't take him seriously.
You see what I'm up against.
But these entries will, hopefully, be preserved. I think they will leave the people of the future shaking their heads. And not in the way that you all shake them.
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
Music opening this page, "First Snow" by Skywalk,
from the album, "Silent Witness"