August 27, 2017

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Steve has figured out that normally, I let him have his lunch hour, and visit with him during his mid-afternoon break. But there won't be time to channel, then. He actually feels the urge to keep working through his lunch; but even though I am here in the astral world, there is still room to compromise in a marriage.

Aside from the fact that it has been a week since we have channeled an entry, there is something I wish to express. Steve is going through the pieces he wrote for a New York City newspaper, while he was living there as a young man of 18. I was only 14, but a very mature 14 (in some ways). I knew I wanted to marry him, and that I was destined to be with him; but he didn't take it, or me, seriously yet, because I was so young. This isn't the whole story--he was on the "rebound" from an older girl who had spurned him. So he was my friend; I was his tutor in the classics; I was in love with him; and he sort of went along with it, while pretending that he wished to be a bachelor the remainder of his life!

I was worried sick that the City of New York would corrupt Mathew--but I needn't have. Pretty soon it became apparent, that through his writing, as a Quaker, a philosopher and an upright young man, he was attempting to reform the City! :-)

And I got a ring-side seat. I even got to contribute a few things, chiefly, my French translations, by which I made some extra cash to put aside for my hope chest.

Now, it would take us a small book to present all the clues that Steve has encountered, telling him about our relationship in its very beginning stages, when I was 14 and he was 18. But what I wanted to express was some feelings, which will take Steve slowing down, now that he has his lunch here beside him, and trying to catch what I'm feeling about this. All of the above was just by way of setting the scene.

It may not seem right to you, who have seen mediums portray us as objective, disinterested angels. Are you lonely? We are (these mediums say) only too pleased for you to remarry. Do you believe in us? We would vastly prefer that you did. Or do you disbelieve in us? That's too bad, but we will be fine, thank-you-very-much.

Others may feel like that. I, personally, have not reached angel status, you see. I am speaking tongue-in-cheek. Love is a force which renders even people enjoying the astral world, into anxious lovers. We who are in love with our soul-mate, are not disinterested angels--or, speaking for myself, I am not.

I am speaking only of soul-mates, now, like Romeo and Juliet. Can you imagine Romeo on this side, having transformed into such a disinterested, magnanimous being, that he conveys, through a medium, to Juliet, "That's okay, if you want to remarry, I am 100"% for it!" But Juliet, you see, doesn't want to remarry. Her soul is forever joined to Romeo's soul. This, again, is the special purview of soul-mates; I speak of no other couples.

All that to say this. Steve and I have been in what amounts to a fancy long-distance relationship for seven years. He knows what I look like (I made sure of that early-one); he knows my personality, pretty-much. He has read my poetry, and my short-stories. But he is getting a far more detailed picture of who I was, as a person, at age 14, through this new evidence he is discovering in this old newspaper.

And if I had nerves, they would be wracking right about now!

Do you know what Steve told me, which set my mind at ease? He casually remarked that even if my facial features were actually repulsive, if he knew it was me in there, he would get used to it and love me the same in any case.

He really thought that this was understood. But he could almost feel me sigh and relax. Why? Because here, you see your lover's heart. You know instantly when a person is expressing a superficial platitude, and when they really mean it. Steve meant it.

But, you see, I know that as a young lady in 1830 and 1831, I had quirks. I think we will not enumerate them, here. This is what I have given Steve the impression that I don't want to go into, in detail, here. I don't want him to spend a great deal of time going over what he has learned about me. Suffice it to say I was very bright, very young, very mature in some ways, and entirely "green," in others. I'll give one example, only, which Steve discovered.

In 1831, Mathew is writing public letters as a character from the country named "Enoch Timbertoes." I am featured, there, as his young hopeful lover, "Sally." Round about my 15th birthday, in early June, 1831, Mathew seems to be all but absent in the newspaper. It appears he has gone home, to our small town of East Haverhill, Mass., to visit me. But after he gets back, comes a letter from Enoch, to his friend Tim (Sally's older brother), that it was just as well Sally didn't come to New York, because he was remembering a "scare" from the previous winter, when women were supposedly "noosed" on the street. What does that mean? Steve isn't sure--perhaps lassoed by men who wished to molest them? But here, Enoch is bringing this up in mid-summer. Well, Mathew knew it wouldn't be a good idea for a 15-year-old girl to come up to New York City on her own. He had to dissuade me at all costs--and I was headstrong! So he had to scare me; and then he had to drop everything and come to Haverhill, instead. Which, of course, is precisely what I wanted. ;-)

Because I was quite capable of manipulating Mathew, when he was ignoring me. He was, after all, the man I was destined to marry. It was written in the stars, and in the tea leaves. So if I played a trick or two in order to help things along, what harm was there in that?

Will it turn Steve off to see what I could be like? It hasn't.

So in love, there is this progression of risks, like peeling off layers of clothes. You are comfortably close, but you want to be closer. You risk all, by revealing something new, and there are the "nerves," but when love saves the day, and you are accepted, you draw closer together. That is what's happening, now, as Steve learns more about my historical self.

After all, Mathew only thought he was a committed bachelor--and as for the girl who had disappointed him, he hadn't seen anything of love, yet! Wait until I was in a position to love him, properly. He would see the difference. But if I had to go all-out to win him, with every trick in the book, I was prepared to do that, to fulfill destiny. Sigh...how can I explain it? I was a skinny little stick figure, with a big brain, who had somehow gotten close to Mathew as his tutor, but this was sort of a two-edged sword. It got me close, but it also got me "pegged," you see. How to move this into a romance? When I was in the wrong social class, my father would never permit it, I wasn't Quaker, and a hundred other things stood between us?

At 14, I made him to understand that I was in love with him, and pining for him, and angry at him for leaving town. To him, I was safe; he could be in a kind of relationship with me, a friendship of sorts, let me be in love, remain chaste, and perhaps I would outgrow it. That would be far preferrable to hurting my feelings. I knew he was doing that. But I was growing up, and I was going to leverage that situation into a real relationship, just as soon as he fell in love with me, in return. The stars told me it would be, and I trusted them.

And lo and behold, it worked. You see, Mathew was very honorable. He would not consider a real romance with me, until I came of age at 16. But after my coming out party, it was a different story. I could sense that he was attracted, and I did everything I knew to attract him, more, and it worked. Sigh...

The ironic thing is, by the time I passed in 1841, after only five years of marriage, he was so deeply in love with me, as his soul-mate, that his grief remained fresh for the rest of his life. It actually destroyed him, you might say, because he yet struggled with his faith. He did what Steve and I are doing now for a few years, after his second arranged marriage blew up. Then he yielded to temptresses who reminded him physically of me, and feeling he had betrayed me, he sunk into depression and a practical way of life. But his grief remained; and this ruined him, as he remarried a third time to a woman who only pretended to love him, but who was using him; and he turned to alcohol (having once been a teetotaler). But in this life he has found himself, and me, and God, again.

So there really is scant chance of him turning away from me, now. But he has this history, you see, and you never really know what people on earth will do. They are almost sleepwalking. Only the most conscious people on earth are really responsible for their behavior. The rest are like automatons, driven by their own impressions from their past lives unknowingly.

Steve learns about me, as a young lady, joyously. With my quirks. He knows. And viscerally, he starts to remember it. How deeply he came to love me--this skinny little brainy tutor who insisted that we were meant to be together, because the stars said so!--whom he started out humoring, ended up loving, and spent the rest of his life grieving and trying to contact--now believing it, now doubting.

But now he knows.

Love to each and all,
Abby