December 2, 2016

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Steve has been wondering what to give me for Christmas, but he has already given me one present, and is working on the second! The first was the entry he just made yesterday in his own journal, introducing me as the original author of "A Christmas Carol." He doesn't know just how accurate it is; but that he went to so much trouble, and presented me so beautifully, is a royal gift. And now, he is learning the introductory portion of a song I once played for him, by Handel. It was, he feels sure, now, the one I first played, when I invited him into our family parlor, to test him. But we have both told that story, before. Steve feels that he must have been joining me in "poor visiting," but that at the end of it, as he saw me to the door, I asked him in. In that large room, as he remembers it, the piano was to the right, in the front-right corner, placed diagonally facing the center of the room. He sat on a hard sofa or chair on the back wall, facing the front of the house; and I played "The Great Jehovah is Our Awful Theme." "Awful," of course, meant "full of awe," then. He fell in love with me on the spot! And all I wanted was to see whether he would appreciate it; whether he had that sensitivity of soul. And that, of course, because I wanted to see if those feelings that were rising in me, for him, were a waste of time or whether I should allow them to blossom--because they were definitely arising!

Well, it worked, alright. Mathew was a king and a seer underneath a farm boy's exterior. I knew it, but I had to be sure. Steve says he only remembers the feeling of exultation, listening to the music, and my beauty (blush), and thinking to himself over and over, "How wonderful she is, how wonderful she is..."

It is true that Mathew, a poor Quaker, was starved for music--he was starved for many things, all of which I gave him. And he gave me the one gift I was so desperately in need of--to be understood, to be cherished and understood for who I was. And he was the only one, aside, perhaps, from my mother, who truly understood me. My sisters cherished me, sort of as the family mascot, or pet--I can't explain--and they were cheering for me when I found a beau--but they didn't really understand me. Nobody did. I was odd.

But to Mathew, I wasn't odd--I was magical. I was his "Magical Girl," and his "dauphine." So this was intoxicating, you see--it is intoxicating when someone sees you, while all your life to everyone else, you were just "odd" (or worse). But I had to be sure--because everything was on the line. I knew I would give myself to him; my heart and all.

So Steve, naturally, only has this brief glimpse of what it meant to Mathew, how he reacted to my playing this piece of music for him. He doesn't have a memory of how I felt. I felt relief. I'm ashamed to say, nothing so very sublime; Thank God, I was falling in love with a real human being, a sincere heart; and it would be safe. Well, as safe as it ever gets.

Now, none of that is what Steve sat down for me to talk about. I only wanted to say that his second gift to me this Christmas, is that he is learning the opening page of "The Great Jehovah is our Awful Theme." We have the book, from our days in Portland--it belonged to the Portland Sacred Music Society, and Steve has a hunch I may have actually checked this very one out from their library to practice with. Anyway, he is learning it; and when he can record that first page properly, I will share it, here, and you can get a sense of what it sounded like when I played it for him.

What Steve wanted me to address was the issue of social reform; that, because we were both very much concerned with it when we wrote the original story that became "A Christmas Carol." Steve still doesn't know whether we actively collaborated, or whether I drafted it out on my own and then we collaborated, or whether I wrote it and he revised it after I had died. I am giving him to understand #2 above; but still, this remains a mystery. Suffice it to say it is my story, but then Mathew added his touches--the humor, the puns, the lighter touch, which made it fun. I could be a bit heavy-handed and preachy, which you see enough of in the work that has come down to you, today.

So Mathew deliberately lightened it up; but we were both quite serious about reaching out to educate mankind, to help lift it up from its terrible suffering and the ignorance which held it spell-bound.

That theme, the theme of social reform, and suffering, and ignorance, is certainly relevant, today, and it is on everybody's mind. But what sage words might I have on this subject? Steve has a jumble of thoughts he might impose on me, here...but he resists that temptation, and we are left hanging "in the air."

You must care passionately; but nothing you do will work. Everything you do will backfire. Everything you do will be swallowed up in the immense abyss of ignorance; or it will be distorted and turned against the original purpose. Wisdom, conveyed from the Font of wisdom, will be turned into catch-phrases, the original fire of meaning lost. What originally meant this will be turned into that. And people will squabble over the scraps, dividing themselves up into camps and fighting each other over them.

It is all summed up in the idea, "the Light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness receiveth it not."

This is a principle, dears, don't go Biblical on me. These are all principles. See them as principles, apply them as principles. They are not Christian, nor are they the property of any other organization or sect. Principles are universal.

Steve has been watching the U.S. elections and the key figures, with an eye to their underlying philosophy. Never mind those who have sold out, and who fool the masses with a show. I am talking about those with sincere ideals. What is their underlying grasp of things? Their "mission statement," if you will? Bernie Sanders says "change always happens from the bottom up." Ajamu Baraka wants a revolution, with "power to the people" and alternatives to capitalism. Jill Stein wants a "Green New Deal."

Change happens the way it happened to Ebenezer Scrooge. It happens the way Alcoholic Anonymous says it happens--after you hit rock bottom, and you finally have the humility to say, "This is over my head--Higher Power, help me!" It happens the way the Christians tell us, when one is at the "point most low" and at that moment, Grace descends.

It also happens when one sees, clearly, that what one thought was wisdom, was folly; what one thought was virtue, was weakness. What earlier had represented progress, now represents an impediment. And there are other principles, besides. But we will stick with these.

One tries and tries and tries to get it right; one eventually admits, "This is hopeless, I will never get it (on my own)"; and in that moment of true humility, Grace descends. That is how reform works.

Because the thing which is trying to be born of you--which is actually your true Self--is much larger than you, yourself. By which is meant, the little self you think you are, now. (This applies to me, as well.) So you can never encompass it. Your wisdom can never be sufficient. It must burst through you, you see. So you must be brought low, no matter how clever you imagine you are. All your cleverness must be exhausted in order for something greater to be born in you.

Does this apply to the collective level? Yes--but not quite parallel. Steve can't get this. It is because the collective level is made up of all these individual people going through this very process individually. In a sense, the collective life is an illusion. The individual is the whole life. Each individual is the collective. Each person is all of us. Now, Steve is getting this from me as thought-impressions, but he can't quite grasp what it means! Each person is the whole. But how can that be? It is all "us." That's the closest he can come to getting it.

That is why it's so tricky to predict. Because...Steve still can't get it. Can you?

So Steve feels I am done. Right in the middle of a thought, as it were! But if he continued, it would just be him, so we will close, here.

Love to each and all,
Abby

P.S. Steve and I were just walking the beach at sunrise, and he pointed out to me...or did I point out to him?...that it is when the earth turns low, that the sun--which is always there--rises.