Many years ago, I used to work in legal video. I vividly remember one case, the manilla folder for which I leafed through out of curiosity. A fellow who worked in a warehouse, had stood on a forklift to change a light bulb. Something hadn't been fastened correctly, and he fell, striking his head on a sharp corner on the base of the lift, killing him instantly. There was a close-up shot of his face, with his eyes staring off into space, and a very large dent in his skull.
Among the legal papers in the folder, were copies of his artistic photographs. He was pretty talented, and these were included, no doubt, to solicit the jury's sympathy. But what struck me--being also a photographer at the time--was that this work would never be known. It had died with him.
Now you see where I'm going with this--because if I don't get off my duff and make something happen, all my work will similarly die with me. Well, I expect this as regards my photography. There has never been any outside interest in it, despite the fact that it ranks, in sheer quality, with some of the best I've ever seen. But I don't want this to happen with my research into my past life as Mathew Franklin Whittier, and especially with regard to his now-reconstructed legacy. This must--if I have any say about it--continue beyond my passing.
Therefore, I am currently ramping up my efforts to get something going. I am, as I've mentioned recently, writing individual e-mails to each English professor whose specialty areas indicate they might have an interest in my past-life authorship claims. I'm also reaching out to radio show hosts, reporters, and others who might be in a position to help me get before the public eye. I have another radio show scheduled in four days--this one in Great Britain, and several more pending.
If I'm successful in leveraging myself into the lecture circuit, I am well-aware that this will be no picnic, no sudden burst into the realms of glory. It is best compared to the itinerant craftspeople I used to see hawking their wares at art shows. That's a culture in itself, and it's not an easy one. You spend weeks on a clay figure, let us say, and what you charge comes out to about 50 cents an hour. But in order to bring people to your booth, you also sell whimsical keychains that look like little animals, for $1.50. You sell the keychains, but no major works. And you still have your booth to pay for.
The double-whammy of my theory that Dickens and Poe lied about their authorship of two world classics--and that I was the real past-life co-author and author, respectively--makes this a very, very hard sell. I actually had an invitation from the head of the world's largest online literary forum, to present my ideas. When I followed up, I deliberately mentioned remembering a detail in "The Raven" from my past life. I did that because it would have been unethical to let him stick his neck out, without knowing that my information was tied to reincarnation research. I didn't hear from him, and I followed up just to be sure. Nothing. I don't think he's decided that all the evidence he was formerly impressed with, is automatically wrong, now that he knows it is tied to reincarnation. I think he can still see my that evidence is good, but he's afraid of being laughed out of the house and losing his position as the moderator. His fears are probably well-founded.
Similarly, I have heard back--being a little over half-way through the list of American colleges--from only a handful of professors. And remember, these are people for whom my discoveries are directly relevant. Some of them have sent terse one-liners, like "I'm afraid I can't help you." One professor, whose life had been changed by an injestion of the mysterious psychedelic Ayahuasca, and who had subsequently studied (however loosely) Eastern metaphysics, felt that focusing on the individual self--as in reincarnation--was superfluous and unimportant.
Perhaps the most interesting response was from an established (and establishment) professor who was deeply entrenched in the status quo views of Charles Dickens and Edgar Allan Poe. He patronizingly explained to me why my theories couldn't possibly be right, and introduced me to information I was already familiar with. For example, he pointed out that Dickens had to have written "A Christmas Carol," because his handwritten draft was there for all to see. He was assusming, of course, that after ten years of research, I had never heard of it.
I wrote back that not only had I heard of it, but I had scrutinized it, and included the results in my first e-book. And that I had found a small smoking gun in it. That's not oxymoronic, "small smoking gun." It's a little thing that everyone has overlooked, which has profound implications.
Whereas "A Christmas Carol" begins with a strong statement of faith in life after death, Dickens, himself, was a skeptic in Spiritualism and related matters. To him, this was only a ghost story, as he himself subtitled the book once he was done with it. But the statement of faith in the opening is not fantasy--it's authentic. So right there, we know he can't be the original author.
But in the speech of the Ghost of Christmas Future--written by Abby--there was, originally, a mention of the soul being set free to live eternally. Dickens scribbled that out--with a very heavy corkscrew motion, as he scribbled out everything in that manuscript--and substituted something more general, which would be acceptable to a skeptic and materialist. The original author of this spiritually powerful story would never have done this. That author would never have opened the story with a very firm statement of the reality of life after death; and then scratched out the Ghost's affirmation of same.
It can only mean one thing. Charles Dickens revised this work, but he didn't write the original.
I can logically prove this. What I can't quite prove, but can only provide circumstantial evidence for, is that Mathew and Abby Whittier were the original authors.
It is not so with "The Raven." There, I can prove that Poe couldn't have written it (using similar logic); and I can prove that Mathew Franklin Whittier clandestinely protested Poe's theft of the poem, on several occasions. I have highlighted my results in the video I recently released.
Even my Facebook friends--most of which were personal friends, as well--refused to comment on that video, when I posted about it. They are, I would guess, quite certain that I must be mad. It is not polite to tell a friend that he's mad, so they say nothing.
This could make me angry, or sad. But what it suggests is that I am moving into an entirely new phase in my life. It is almost as though I had died and reincarnated, as far as my karma is concerned. In short, it is really time for me to make some new friends. This business of opening my heart and my work to utter strangers, and being universally rejected by them, is emotionally exhausting. I am trying to leverage myself from the stage of being ignored, to the next stage, of being ridiculed. I can't expect much better, for some time to come. If I have friends, I need them to be supportive, and by that I mean, not patronizing, but genuinely supportive. That requires that they understand what I'm doing. At the very least, it requires that they have taken the time to look seriously at my evidence, and have made their own fair-minded decision. I don't need friends around me who won't even look, and who ignore me if I force the issue.
So I literally "unfriended" everybody on Facebook, except for two people. Because many of these were actual friends, I have unfriended them in real life, as well.
My feeling is that this work is destined to get out into the public eye, and that it will be preserved for posterity. I think it will be very much of an uphill slog, and a lonely one, for the most part. I suspect that there will be bright spots, and that I will make some new, excellent friendships along the way. The reason is that my theories and my conclusions are correct. Truth will out, and I am dedicated to the truth. I am neither self-deluded, nor a hoaxter. I am ahead of my time. All self-deluded people think they are ahead of their time; but not all people who think they are ahead of their time, are self-deluded. It is self-serving to assume that I am in the former category. It is a safe assumption--but it turns out, in the end, not to have been a rational assumption.
For example, two people, one of them in academia and the other presumably so (in an online forum), have pronounced my video presentation on "The Raven" to be "weak." It isn't. It's quite strong--but it relies on research which, of necessity, I can't include in a half-hour video. One would have to read my e-books carefully, to see the logic of that background research. For example, in order to be the real author of "The Raven," Mathew Franklin Whittier would have to be on-site, in New York City. I can prove he was, writing star-signed essays and reviews for the New York "Tribune." But this body of work has been erroneously attributed to Margaret Fuller. Therefore, I have to prove that Fuller stole the star-signed work from Mathew, before I can prove that Poe stole "The Raven" from him. And I don't have time to go into that in the video about "The Raven." I can only assert it.
This doesn't mean the video is "weak." It means one is being directed to the e-book for further information. Because there is no real question that Mathew was living and working in New York City, and that he was working as a critic for the "Tribune," just a block or two from where Poe was working as a critic for the "Evening Mirror."
The other professor chided me that I would need to answer the forensic questions, like "How, When, Motive, and Opportunity." I wrote him that I had already addressed these issues. But so far (that was yesterday) I haven't gotten a response. Evidentally he had not watched the video--I urged him to do so, that the answers were all contained therein. Mathew had 20 years of publishing experience by 1845, and he was very talented. He had written poetry of a similar nature, before. He would have been the one who first submitted "The Raven" to the "American Review" for their second, Feb. 1845 edition, under the name, "---- Quarles." His motive was to share his work; Poe's motive was to get paid for it, and perhaps to gain some recognition for it. Obviously, working there in New York City, Mathew had the opportunity. That just scratches the surface of what's indicated in my video.
I wrote recently (last entry, I think it was) questioning myself as to whether I was being arrogant in relation to these professors. This professor was being arrogant to me. He was quite sure that I was a slap-dash ignoramus of a pseudo-researcher, as he kindly patted me on the head and provided me with this elementary information.
I kept my cool and honestly kept sharing my information with him. When I had actual answers, he clammed up.
I have been watching episodes of "Sherlock Holmes" which aired on PBS some years ago. These, of course, were written by Sir Conan Doyle, who was also a Spiritualist. It occurred to me, this morning, that a similar dynamic is represented in those stories, in the relationship between Holmes and the police. In one episode I watched yesterday, the bumbling police detective takes credit, in the newspapers, for the solution to a crime that Holmes, himself, had derived. Holmes and his sidekick Watson just laugh about it.
What I'm doing, now, is merely exposing these people--en masse--to the information. Informing somewhere between 100 and 200 professors, who specialize in a relevant area or areas, will have several interesting effects. For one thing, if any of them claim the information as their own, 199 of their colleagues will know where it originated from. For another thing, I assume that these people communicate with one another--at conventions, if not by e-mail. One of them is bound to mention that weird e-mail she got a couple months ago, about Mathew Franklin Whittier.
Or, one of these people will stumble upon a historical anecdote that supports my claims. And that will bring my e-mail to their mind: "Hmmmm...I wonder...."
These professors think they have defeated me by not writing back. But as many as 200 of them will have seen the information, and the soup is spit in.
When I'm done with the English professors, I will go back to drumming up radio interviews, and perhaps contacting reporters. I'm serious about this. It's a new incarnation in the same body, and it's time to get things moving.
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
Music opening this page, "Battle We Have Won," by Eric Johnson, from the album, "Venus Isle"