August 22, 2016
I want to follow up on the previous entry, to announce that we have completed all of the last-minute changes to Steve's book, "Mathew Franklin Whittier in his own words," and it is ready for sale. I cannot promise, of course, that it's the last revision, because I, myself, do not always know when I might be able to make some new piece of evidence accessible to Steve. I say it that way, because I know it's out there; but drawing it into Steve's direct orbit is another matter. Both technically (though that is the lesser problem), and by way of what you might call "karmic permission." I have to smooth the way for every consequence which making that information public could have, every repercussion, for each person connected with it. Insofar as we can see, that is. Our vision of possible futures isn't unlimited, like God's, or like the angels (whom He works through as His instruments); but we can see farther down the branching roads of the future than mankind in the physical life can do.
Oh, Steve sometimes watches mediums work on YouTube during his lunch break, and I gently prompted him to watch a medium working with a small audience, yesterday. The scene was a metaphysical shop connected, as it seems, with a hairdressing establishment! But hanging on one wall was an "Ojos de Dios," a mandala-shaped art piece which one of Steve's friends designs. He's not the only one--Steve is going to ask if this is one of his. But anyway, while reading one of the audience, the medium let slip one little detail about our life, here, which I had told him by way of our more primitive communication. I had told him that upon crossing over here, people find that anyone can be a technically proficient musician. And that by inference, if a musician on earth has been concentrating entirely on developing technique, they are quite disappointed, and their "balloon is popped," when they realize that everybody here can reach the same level of proficiency! So one does better, on earth, to concentrate on expressing the deepest aspects of oneself, and making "technique" second. The medium had simply conveyed, from the person he was channeling, that "she can play any instrument, now." Thus does Steve increase his faith in our communication, to see little "bits and pieces" of it confirmed, occasionally, in these readings.
Steve had to take a bathroom break, but the information is still coming, so it's jamming up like a conveyer belt!
So, (as they say, now), he experienced the same thing with our past-life study, the one the book is based on. I would prompt him to remember something--sometimes in his sleep, so that it would seemingly come to him "out of the blue" the following day--and then weeks, or even months later, he would come across some corroborating reference to it in one of Mathew's published stories. Steve is balking, because he doesn't like the example. What I'll share now is partly from the historical research, and partly from me, and we will make it brief because it is still uncomfortable for him, emotionally. When I was 16 and Mathew 20, I began tutoring him. He was a farm boy eager for an education, meaning, more education (because he had already worked at it on his own), and I was a privileged girl who had been privately tutored. In exchange for work around the house (this is new to Steve), I agreed to tutor him in certain subjects, say, Latin and the Greek classics, and French (being that I was half French). I taught him French with Aesop's Fables!--and he drew from them, for his humorous sketches, all his life.
But we fell in love that spring, and we became intimate, because we knew we were soul-mates and we both believed that that trumped the "legal papers of man," and we were supremely happy--until we were caught. Not "in the act," I'm giving Steve to understand, but the glow of love is hard to conceal from one's sisters, as you know if you have sisters. Mine were loyal, I am giving Steve to understand, now--but not so one of my stuffy brothers. I will say no more. But we were separated, I was castigated and shamed, and I was also tricked into believing that I had been taken advantage of, and that my ideas of love were foolish, and that Mathew no more loved me than a dog loved a bitch, and so-on and so-forth. I was 16...my heart said no, but my mind said "It must be so," and I was inconsolate. I felt far more than a 16-year-old is usually given credit for. But my father--who objected not so much to sex, but to my ideas of marriage to this bumpkin (he was literally a marquis), provided me a suitable suitor. (Now, normally I would never write "suitable suitor," but Steve has done it, so we will leave it ;-). This fellow wormed his way into my confidence, but his intentions were evil--he simply thought that since I had given my favors to one boy, I must be a trollop, and should be relatively easy to conquer.
How little he knew my heart! I was true, and I was Mathew's, but I had been tricked into believing that Mathew had betrayed me, and in my anger, I was content to let Mathew think that I had fallen for this new fellow. For awhile, to punish him--but not too much, because I wanted him back, you see. Thus does a 16-year-old girl's mind and heart work. You will know, if you were one, once.
Well, there is more, but we will speed over it. He tried to take advantage of me when I was turning to him as a platonic friend, word got out to Mathew (because he "spun" it to his friends that I had willingly complied), my father drove him from the house, my eyes were opened, and my mother sat Mathew down in the kitchen and grilled him for three hours about whether he truly loved me, or was just using me. At the end of that grilling, Mathew broke down to her and confessed that he loved me more than life, itself--and she could see that he was entirely sincere. It was decided that Mathew would go into the world to make his fortune, and to prove to them that he could support me. He and I pledged our fidelity--which both of us kept--but four years later, when he returned (having failed as a merchant, partly because he could never pick honest partners), he proposed despite it all--by the moonlit banks of the flowing Merrimack River, on May Day, 1836--and I accepted. I shocked him, you know, because he never dreamed I would. He just had to try. He was actually speechless! (It was so amusing! meaning, in a loving way. How dear!) Now, Steve is pausing, because he feels my deep, deep affection for him as Mathew, and he doesn't know what words to use to express it. Never mind. Steve never feels jealous of himself, by the way. His emotional identification with his former self is so complete, he experiences my love for Mathew as love for him, which, of course, it is!
This scenario showed up, in various disguised plots, in both Mathew's short stories, and in mine. How interesting! Our whole book is like that you see. I would tell him things, or he would remember something, and then there it would be, in one of those stories, clear as day! And one would think that people would find this interesting enough to part with the measly sum of $12.00. Think of what people spend $12.00 for, these days! Sigh...
So the question arises, why aren't people buying our book? The "big theories" have distilled down to these: 1) they don't believe Steve about it for one fraction of one second; 2) they believe it, and it scares them; 3) they don't want to bother to read a large book; they want everything handed to them quickly on a "silver platter"; 4) they think they've seen it all before, and there is no need to read this one.
Our psychic--the one who brought us together in 2010--agrees with what Steve told her he feels I have told him--that people are afraid. Now, that's a confusing sentence, as Steve has written it. I told Steve that people are afraid, and then make other excuses to themselves not to purchase it and read it. He shared that with Candace in e-mail recently, and she agrees with me. That's all.
I am always afraid that I will scare Steve away, if I manifest myself to him too obviously. That is what happened shortly after I passed, as Abby. It was terrible, awful--worse than thinking that Mathew didn't really love me, when I was 16. Men think they are brave, and can handle it--but manifest, as a "ghost," to someone, and see how brave they are! (A change of clothes is almost always necessary.) And then they are actually repulsed by you--and this is unbearable, to finally, by a supreme effort of will, become manifest to the one you love dearly, only to see that they are both afraid of you and repulsed by you!!!! So I am quite shy of triggering this reaction again, even though Steve assures me that he doesn't mind being scared. He says he would get used to it, and he points to that scene in the movie, "Cocoon," where the men are using the neighbor's pool, and the aliens are there, and they just wave "hi" to them and go on about their swimming.
I am there, alright--but it is not a simple matter to manifest physically, especially when one has been in a non-physical form for over 170 years! Steve and I will incarnate together, next time--I am waiting for that. Otherwise I would have incarnated before this, but I had to wait while Steve did some "remedial learning." Enough said. He had to get some bad karmic relationships worked through, and he had to learn certain things, before we could successfully be together--and I didn't want to be unsuccessfully together, ever again. "Been there, done that," as they say. (We would have liked that colloquialism in the early 1800's. I love colloquialisms, which is to say, I love to study them, not necessarily to use them. I was kind of a studious person outside of Society, and "ordinary" society intrigued and sometimes amused me--Mathew and I shared this habit, and he continued what we used to do, in his humorous sketches, as a way of keeping our relationship alive, or as a sort of tribute.)
This morning, as Steve was petting his cat in his recliner, on his lap, the cat stared for quite some few seconds at me, over his right shoulder. But this time, Steve took it as a matter of course. "Oh, Abby is there." He knows that I "float," and it disconcerts him a bit. But it's like being in space, in the space station. If you have been there for months, and there is no gravity, and hence no "down" or "floor," then you gradually lose the inclination to respect the idea of a floor, meaning, why should you always have to be there? So even when visiting Steve, invisibly, I see no particular reason to always be on the horizontal, as it were!
Steve wishes he knew in what sense I am there with him, and in what sense I am not. Is it literal, as the artist portrays it in my other book, "Loving Abby in Truth and Spirit"? Or is it a kind of mental telepathy, or mental rapport, only? Steve knows, and feels from me now, that I am "just a step away." What does that mean? But this has become a very long letter. I only meant to say, "The book is ready, now." And look what I ended up conveying! I am chatty, sometimes--though one could hardly believe it, if one saw the "studious Abby." Mathew knew those other sides of me--he knew all the sides of me, and loved them all. Physically, mentally, you-name-it. I could never have been loved by anyone else as comprehensively as Mathew loved me, and as Steve loves me, today. Perhaps I will someday have the courage to manifest to him fully. It is sort of like a guy proposing to a girl--it's "make or break time." It is not easy, but if just the right conditions should prevail, like the sun peering through heavy cloud-cover, it might just be possible for him to get a glimpse of me. Shall I risk it? I am inclined to. (And he keeps pestering me that he wants to see me, which, of course, a girl so much in love cannot refuse, forever...)
Love to each and all,