Third day in a row...the link to the Archives is at the bottom of the page.
Quite a few people have been reading my article on my research method, "Proving Reincarnation (with a method anyone can use)." Last month it got 282 hits; and already this month, 45 people have viewed it. I don't say "read it," because one never knows, from the stats, how many people did more than skim, or read the first two paragraphs.
But there is a significant aspect of my method that I did not touch on in that article, and that is astral assistance. I did mention it insofar as I described using two different psychic mediums. But I didn't go on to reveal that the astral person those mediums were contacting for me--Mathew Franklin Whittier's first wife, Abby Poyen--assisted me for the seven years of my study.
Now, I felt, as I contemplated writing this entry, while walking on the beach earlier this morning, that there are certain things Abby wants me to say about this, and certain things she would prefer I not say. I almost punted to her, and let her talk about it in her channeled journal. There, she has more control over what I blurt out. But, no. I think I can't cop out like that; I just have to pay attention. So, where to go with this? You know, as a writer, I have choices branching out in front of me, in the introduction to an essay. Which route shall I take--or as they say, how will I get into it?
I can prove, to any logical and reasonable standard, that Abby is, actually, assisting me in recovering evidence. We have presented that proof, previously, in entries that are not currently online. I think I will pass on that today, and just talk about the general process, itself. If people are in denial, they will ridicule even good evidence. This is the principle Jesus referred to as "casting your pearls before swine." It's a principle--don't get huffy. But I have done too much of that in my presentations.
Here is where I want to start--that I'm ahead of my time. But there is precedent for what I'm doing, and I'll cite two examples. Have you read Dr. Marge Rieder's "Millboro" study series? On two different occasions, I drove out to Millboro and assisted her, for 2-3 days, with her research, taking the opportunity to interview her on one of those trips.* My purpose was to see if I could determine, independently, whether she was getting real results. Long story short, I concluded that she wasn't as scientifically rigorous as I would have liked, at times; but she was getting real results, nonetheless, and it was a ground-breaking study. But the point is, she used the phrase, "psychic research." In other words, historical research utilizing psychic abilities and paranormal phenomena. Not that she claimed to be inventing that! Dorothy Eady, or "Om Seti," used it to very good effect, as I understand, and confounded the scholars with her accuracy.
So, in studying the life of Mathew Franklin Whittier in the 19th century, I have also been doing psychic research.
The second precedent I wanted to cite, was not Dorothy Eady--whom I have only read up on briefly--but Dr. Gary Schwartz of the University of Arizona. He started out establishing, through the scientific method, that mediumship is a real phenomenon. And if you think his work has been debunked, you have been the victim of a disinformation campaign, such as we have seen aimed at Bernie Sanders and Jill Stein during the course of this 2016 election. He has impeccable credentials, and his study design is valid. But he went on to start exploring cooperation between people on earth, and people in the astral realm. This is what I'm currently doing with Abby, and what we have been doing for the past seven years, as I have been researching my case.
I am further ahead of my time than Dr. Schwartz. You can tell who is further along, by who won't give whom the time of day. I did try to arrange an interview with him, for my erstwhile internet radio show, "Metaphysical Explorations," and was told he didn't do interviews, etc. I was passed on to his protege, Julie Beischel, who I did interview. But I didn't mention my own research. She wouldn't have been ready to hear it.
Why do I write like this to a general audience? Honestly, I'm not sure. The usual protocol is not to challenge peoples' "boggle threshold." I know the principle--a college professor doesn't walk into a fourth-grade class and teach over their heads. But there is something in me that tells me, this is what I'm here for. You know, there are people whose assignment is to water it down and teach to the level of the students; but there are those people, like the TED speakers, whose function in life is to shake people up to their possibilities. I have the feeling I am one of those people (even though TED would probably have nothing to do with me, and I do not anxiously check my e-mail looking for an invitation from them).
I'll just tell you what I've surmised. Abby has been looking over my book, "Mathew Franklin Whittier in his own words," and if she sees some memory I've expressed, or a theory I've put forth, and we don't have enough evidence to support it, she finds it. How she finds it I don't know, though I can speculate that it has something to do with resonance. Everything works by resonance over there. Here on earth, people say, "Put out the thought to the Universe, and it will come to you." That's hard to prove. But in the astral realm, it is "unobstructed" (to use Betty White's term).** So it happens more quickly and decisively.
Then, she has to get permission. I don't understand a lot about permissions, but I think she has to get permission of everyone it could affect. Everyone who has a stake in it, or everyone whose reputation could be affected. If the evidence would make someone's legacy look bad, she has to get permission for that. I don't understand all the ins and outs--but I gather she is quite busy with these formalities, prior to releasing to me any piece of evidence.
You see, this breaks new ground. Well, probably not for advanced occultists, to whom this is not news. But, certainly to the general public, and to Science, in this day and age.
I feel I am skating very close to what Abby doesn't want me to say--but not quite over the line.
Once she has all the permissions taken care of, she has to get the actual object to me. I have no idea how she does this--but the effect itself, if not the dynamics, is well-known. Any grieving person who has experienced a sign--and some of them are very clear--has been the recipient of this same process. What Abby's doing, in "pushing" these objects into my orbit, is akin to giving me signs. Except, they are specifically intended to bolster the book.
I began to notice, that where I had one piece of evidence establishing a memory, or supporting a theory, Abby would somehow arrange for me to find a second. It was as though she wanted each example to have a "one-two punch," even if I was satisfied with the single piece of evidence. The end result is that almost every memory or theory set forth in the book has two supporting examples.
Very, very rarely would these pieces of evidence clinch the matter in question. There was always some wiggle room left; always some alternative explanation. This, also, seems to have been intentional. There is, perhaps, some law against proving these things 100%. But there were exceptions, as I've stated, before. One of the most interesting, was the claim that Albert Pike wrote "Ode to the Mocking Bird," as scholars insist he did; and as he himself claimed. I strongly suspected that Abby had written it, when she was 16 years old, or even younger. I have presented this poem, before. It is truly remarkable for such a young person. But how to wrest it from Pike's claim, and the iron-clad assertion of the scholars?
Well, several women I queried all agreed that, in their opinion, the poem was written by a woman, not a man. One of them, a friend, searched online with the keywords, "Albert Pike, plagiarism," and got a historian who dared go so far as discussing the matter, but would not come down on one side or the other. So Abby got to work, as it seems. Through a series of steps I don't remember now, I ended up eventually finding a letter Pike had written to a biographer. This biographer was creating a compilation of brief biographical sketches of authors, and had solicited Pike's information. So Pike apparently felt he had to volunteer an explanation for how he--a manly guy who had been a Civil War general for the South--could have written such an obviously sensitive, inspired poem! His explanation? He wrote it a couple of days after his wedding. The inference being, that he was in love and in a particularly exalted state of mind at the time.
But I have that poem published in an 1832 magazine--I actually own an original. Pike was married in 1834.
So there we have 100% proof that Pike did not write the poem.*** The rest falls into place very quickly, as regards the series of other clues I have. We still don't have the strength of evidence to prove that Abby, herself, was the author. But we can take it to a level just shy of absolute proof, I would say, thanks to some of the other things she brought to my attention.
And how does she "bring things to my attention"? She seems to insert a thought-burst into my subconscious mind. That sets off a chain reaction--a chain reaction which apparently is calculated toward my ending up with a particular result. She has given me the impression of playing trick billiards. You get the idea, I don't need to flesh it out.
Again, I have 100% proof that she can do this, and that it is not, in fact, magical thinking on my part. I don't feel like sharing it, now. As said, I have done so, in the past. If you missed it, well, you missed it.
I think the reason Abby wants me to be coy, is that this is for people who are receptive. It is not for cynics with their mind dead-set against the idea. Abby actually wants those people to disbelieve me.
The point I wish to make, is that this book is far, far, far stronger than it would have been without Abby's assistance. It is the difference between ordinary research, and psychic research. Actually, it seems to me there are three levels of research. There is library research--the kind everyone had to do prior to about 1990. Then there is internet research. Prior to the internet, a researcher really had to be a scholar, having all the knowledge either in his head, or readily available through a library. He also had to have the funding to travel and to hire researchers. But with the internet, I become my own scholar, and my own researcher. There are, as you know, some caveats. Some things simply haven't made their way onto the internet. Some of the information is wrong. So I had to cross-check, and at times I had to use traditional library research with either volunteer, or paid researchers. But the power of the internet, for research, is awesome, and not to be underestimated. It made me roughly equal to a life-long scholar of 19th century literature with a research budget and graduate students. I was frequently wrong, due to naive assumptions--but I could catch my errors and correct them as I went along, so the end result was the same.
Then, add an astral assistant. In the astral world, it appears they naturally have what you might call an internet on steroids. Abby tells me that there, you don't type in a URL, you think; and you don't visit a web page, you talk to a person. You get it from the horse's mouth, as it were. There, everyone has connections to people on earth. So if you want something to show up for sale on Ebay, you talk directly to those people in the astral who are connected with the owner. And you make arrangements.
Some of the things that came my way, on Ebay, are astounding. I'll give an example which is not the 100% proof example I had cited, earlier; but it will give you an idea of the absurdity of it--meaning, the sheer absurdity that it could be coincidence. The only thing you will find besides "signs for the grieving" which relates to this, is Carl Jung's work on synchronicity. On Ebay, I ran across two tiny, tiny carvings of deer, in a little box, and that box in a bigger box. It was advertised as once having belonged to poet John Greenleaf Whittier, Mathew's famous older brother. In the big box, was a note written and signed by his nephew-in-law, Samuel Pickard. This was Mathew's son-in-law, who had married Mathew's daughter, Elizabeth Whittier. The signature checks out against other copies I have, in Pickard's book, "Whittier-Land." He writes, that the smaller box once belonged to John Greenleaf Whittier. So it's authenticated to that extent.
I put a minimum bid on it--about $100--with the thought, "I doubt I'll get this, but if I'm supposed to win it, I will." Nobody bid against me--which is absurd, given that anything personal having to do with Whittier should normally be snapped up--and was interested to see that the deer really were tiny--about half an inch long. They went on my shelf.
Some months later, I discovered a travelogue (which I have been writing about, lately), which Mathew wrote in the years 1849-52. It came to me in a most casual way. And here the story gets long--but perhaps you will find it interesting. Many years earlier, I had hired a psychic to contact Abby--the second psychic I used. He was certified by the NY psychic community, Lily Dale. Toward the end of the reading, he said he heard the letter M being repeated. He said, "I hear M, M, M...Mathew, Methuen." He trailed off on the second word. I was taking notes, and I asked him to repeat what he had just said, thinking I might hear the second word more clearly. He repeated it just the same way, trailing off on the second word. I wrote it down, at the time, as "Massuen." Keep in mind that the most I had told him, was that I wanted to contact my wife from a past life in the 19th century. He had no names, no places; and for the first half an hour, I deliberately defeated the "cold reading" objection by giving him no feedback.
Come to find out he worked out of that area, from a spiritualist church in Swampscott, Mass. Methuen, Mass. is the only town in the country with that name. Apparently, he thought he must be making it up, since Methuen is relatively close to Swampscott. He was reading me from a hotel room near the Boston airport. He had no idea that the people he was reading about came from his own neck of the woods.
But it seemed to me, when I explored Methuen online, that Mathew and Abby lived there for a couple of months, after their young son died of scarlet fever. I just had no evidence, other than what the psychic had said.
So on Ebay, I see two old, faded, dirty copies of a newspaper from 1850, the Boston "Weekly Museum." I knew that Mathew had published one or two of his sketches under his one historically-known pseudonym, "Ethan Spike," in that paper, so I bought them. When I got them in the mail, however, I couldn't find anything by Mathew. I was actually photographing them so as to sell them back on Ebay, when I noticed something on the back page of one of the editions. It was a humorous sketch--and the people and towns mentioned in it were disguised by giving only the first letter, followed by a long dash. The main characters were "Mr. P----" and "Mr. W----", while the town was "M----". This, I knew, was Mathew's modus operandi when he wanted to cloak something. (Using dashes was also a convention used by other writers at the time.) But when I read the story, I recognized it--and here is how the traditional research method, and the psychic method(s), triangulate. I remembered this story, vaguely--my internal Geiger Counter went off, and I knew I was on to something.
I knew, intuitively, that this was Mathew writing, many years later, about his experience of living in Methuen with Abby. The story is ostensibly about a contest between the two laziest people in the county. Mathew and Abby weren't lazy. Abby was beside herself with grief for their little son, Joseph, who had died very recently. Perhaps Mathew was even worried she might be suicidal. She would take long walks by the river, and Mathew felt he had no choice but to accompany her--so he couldn't work. This sketch was his scathing response to the people of Methuen, who had gossiped behind their back that they were lazy. Nobody ever guessed that it wasn't just light humor. I knew it immediately, on a deep emotional level, as soon as I read it.
So now, I had a pretty fair guess that this pseudonym was also Mathew's. I sent a volunteer researcher into the library to search for anything else under this pseudonym. Turns out, there was a series of sketches Mathew submitted, in lieu of the travelogue he normally wrote under this pseudonym, while he was in-between travel assignments. He was working as a freelance postal inspector, and was going to be in Boston (where the paper was based) for awhile, so he submitted these humorous sketches, instead. My researcher didn't even copy the travelogue entries, just the sketches, because she thought they weren't Mathew's style.
They were. Over two years of almost weekly letters, which amount to a published diary. They were claimed by, and for, someone else--and it took me forever to prove that it was a scam, and that Mathew was the real author. I won't go into that. But then, two year-long volumes of that paper also showed up for sale on Ebay, and I won them. I also sent another paid researcher into the Boston Public Library, where he was able to download for me the rest of the paper, which began in mid 1848. So I have the entire thing.
But, back to the tiny deer carvings. Mathew writes, in this travelogue, of sailing to Europe. He attends the World Peace Congress in Exeter Hall, London, in July of 1851. He says he was working as a reporter in the reporter's box. An etching was published of the entire hall, during the opening speech--and who should appear, in that reporter's box, in miniscule detail, but Mathew Franklin Whittier. But that's another story. While in Lucerne, Switzerland, Mathew writes of seeing amazing, detailed carvings, as small as half an inch long, including carvings of animals:
The Swiss peasantry have long been noted for their ingenuity, which they manifest in their leisure hours in whittling out representations of Swiss scenery, hunting scenes, dairy scenes, and images or statues of different eminent persons. Some of these whittlings are exquisite beyond description, representing perfectly-formed animals and persons, less than half an inch in length, every limb and feature being as carefully carved as the marble statues in Westminster Abbey, in London.
Suddenly I realize, these two carvings I have on my shelf are not deer, they are chamois. And I did try to find matching examples online. I even wrote to a museum in Lucern. They didn't write back, but I couldn't find any examples, online, of Swiss carvings this small. Apparently, Mathew assumed they were more common than they were. Abby had arranged for those very carvings, which Mathew perchance bought as Christmas presents in Lucern, to end up in my office--before I had learned about this travelogue.
How did they get there? I can speculate that they were a gift to Mathew's sister, Elisabeth. When she died in 1864, they would have gone to his brother, John Greenleaf Whittier--so indeed, at one point, he owned them. He would have kept them for sentimental reasons, because they were his beloved sister's. When he died, they would have gone to his niece, Lizzie Pickard; and when she died, they would have fallen to her husband, Samuel Pickard. Pickard was friends with author John Townsend Trowbridge (his family was friends with Lizzie and her family). John Greenleaf, and Mathew, had also been friends with Trowbridge. So Pickard would have gifted the carvings to Trowbridge, who lived in Arlington, Mass.; and Trowbridge did, in fact, have a study full of momentos. The seller told me he had picked up these carvings at an estate sale either in Arlington, or very near-by (he couldn't remember). And why were the carvings broken? And who had artlessly attempted to glue them back together? Probably Greenleaf Pickard, Samuel and Lizzie's son, who was known to be wild as a boy.
But had Abby not arranged, somehow, for those two ragged, dirty editions of the "Boston Weekly Museum" (the article now sits framed to my right, on my office wall) to show up on Ebay, and for me to see them, I never would have found the sketch in which Mathew confirmed what the psychic had said. And I never would have found Mathew's published diary; and I would never have known that I held, in my hands, two tiny carvings I wrote about during my travels in Europe, in 1851.
So this is a collaboration in the truest sense. And Abby has given me to understand that there are few joys greater, for people in the astral world, than to teach each other, to learn from each other, and to collaborate on projects. What adds spice to it, is that we are soul-mates. So it doesn't get much better than this.
And hardly anybody thinks my book is worth the price of a fast-food lunch for two. Well, I will continue to explain this to anybody who is listening, anyway.
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
*I am mentioned in her third book, but the incident she describes is mis-reported so as to look better for herself. She insisted on going down the side of a mountain, while her boyfriend continued on the path. I, and one of her subjects--both of us younger--were with them. We quickly decided we had to split up; the subject would go with the boyfriend, and I would accompany Dr. Rieder. The situation quickly got potentially dangerous, since Dr. Rieder was 75 years old at the time, it was rough terrain, and we had no provisions with us. Had she sprained an ankle, we would have been in trouble. She wanted to walk down to the base of the mountain, and she was not the sort of person you argued with, so as fate would have it we made it safely, and someone happened by in a car and took us to a phone. But for the record, all of that was her idea, which she insisted on, and I was going along to try to keep her safe.--SS
**Betty White's husband, Stewart Edward White, wrote "The Unobstructed Universe" based on communications with Betty after her passing.
***On 12/4/16, I discovered that I had been sloppy in my research--finding that Pike had written a poem entitled "Ode to the Mocking Bird," I neglected to actually compare the poem with the 1832 version. It now appears that Pike reworked Abby's 1832 poem, in 1834, precisely when he said he did--perhaps to impress his wife, a couple of days after his wedding. But he still lied about it being his original work. However, I stand corrected inasmuch as it is a poor imitation of the original, rather than a direct plagiarism.
Music opening this page: "We've Only Just Begun," by The Carpenters, from the album, "Close to You"