I've had more sleep than usual, and I'm in-between batches of research results. Tomorrow I may have a ton of my past-life published works to process, from his very earliest period, 1831. He was 18 years old, and writing for a New York City paper. In the meantime, my caretaking duties are becoming exponentially more difficult, as my 98-year-old mother's health fails. So the heat is on, and I am taking a breath, here, before the plunge.
Writing these entries is a relaxation, for me--the question then becomes, given that I don't feel inspired with any particular topic, today, can I convey something interesting with "no particular place to go"?
As I immerse myself in my past-life writing, I find that it re-awakens my subconscious mind. Never my conscious mind--never full cognitive memories. Never, that is, unless the emotion was very intense, in which case I may get a brief flash, a vignette, which remains fixed like a snap-shot. That hasn't happened with any of this early work I have been digitizing. I have not remembered anything, so far, of living in New York of the early 1830's, as a young man. I have a few autobiographical anecdotes--chiefly, of living in a boarding house (the first one being on Pearl Street, probably near Broadway). But from the etchings one can find online, it looked like the store-fronts seen on any small-town Main Street, today--only longer.
It is tricky to discern between the effect of subconscious awakening, and simple exposure to Mathew's writing style. There is no question that I know and can recognize his style, now, after studying hundreds of examples. But to what extent is that a normal ability which would develop for anyone who had immersed him or herself in them, as I have?
I actually have a better operational handle on that distinction than you might think, because I have had several researchers trying to discern, for me, in this or that historical library, which might be his works. And what I see is that the skeptic can't do it; the historian I hired once, who occasionally dipped into his intuition, could sometimes hit it; and the researcher I have now, who I think was actually Mathew's younger sister-in-law, can do it almost as well as I can. She has photographed a piece which she intuitively felt was relevant, but which I dismissed at the time--only to return to it sheepishly, and realize that Mathew had, in fact, written it. I was dissuaded from my own intuitive recognition by some mistaken construction of Mathew's personal history; whereas she, being free from those constraints, reacted to it spontaneously.
My current researcher understands and believes that Abby, Mathew's soul-mate and my wife, now, in the astral realm, is real and is guiding the research. She (the researcher) can let Abby guide her in the process, as well, via intuition. But then, unless I miss my mark, they were sisters, and hence have a personal connection.
So my conclusion is that subconscious past-life memory plays a distinct role, over and above mere familiarity with Mathew's style.
Mathew was frequently imitated--this, not only by my lights, but by the assertion of one of his editors, B.P. Shillaber. I have had to discern Mathew's work from that of his imitators. He was also plagiarized extensively, with people claiming entire bodies of Mathew's work, pseudonym and all--and I have had to wrest those from these other claimaints. Personally, I found this fascinating and even exhilarating--but then, I had a vested interest. The jury is still out as to whether readers of the future will find it so, once people start taking my work seriously.
I find, by my stats, that I have about six people per day reading this blog. Are they the same bunch, checking in every week or two? There could be a core group of, say, 20 or 30, who check in occasionally. Few if any of these people have seen fit to purchase and immerse themselves in my book. So what do I make of you all? It's a puzzle. Not to insult the handful of people who have expressed even a moderate interest, but here's the thing--if you like my writing in these blogs, you will like my writing in the book a whole lot more. And I'm sorry, but this locks down the music I will have to open this page with... ;-).
Last night, I tried my level best to explain to my mother why she must not tear the bandages off her arm at night. She has severe dementia, of a type which renders her intellect duller, and duller, and duller, until now she can hardly understand the simplest thing. Still, there remains what Eric Berne called the "Little Professor"--that part of the mind which is so superbly portrayed by Rowan Atkinson's "Mr. Bean." It was all wasted breath--this morning she had somehow contrived to rip the entire thing to shreds, as well as bunching the elastic wrap into a thick bracelet that I had a heck of a time snipping off her arm. As said, I am under increasing stress, here. But what occurs to me, is that trying to explain anything to my Mom, is like trying to convince anyone that my study is real, in these blogs. The complete lack of sales, or any other active interest (like interview requests), suggests that I'm not getting through, just like this morning's mess indicates I didn't get through to my mother.
Mom won't "get it" until her life review, after she leaves her body. Similarly, I think no-one is likely to get it, regarding my work, until future generations arrive on the scene--future generations which, perchance, may include some of the people being initially exposed to the information, now.
That means that trying to explain anything, here in this blog, is tantamount to my laboriously attempting to explain to my Mom why she must not tear off her bandages.
If I really believed that, of course, I would stop writing.
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
Music opening this page: Ravi Shankar,
about to perform at the Concert for Bangladesh