This will be a continuation of my entry of the 10th. I am still waiting for the final version of a commissioned illustration--the artist did a superb job, but I don't feel it's quite there yet, so I sent him back to the drawing board (literally). In the meantime, I continue to proofread and tweak my very lengthy Chapter 14. Absurdly lengthy--the one chapter is several hundred pages long! But why do things like everybody else does them? Life is too short (and there are too many of them--lifetimes, that is).
I find editing exhausting, but writing is relaxing. This morning, I am plunging into a section in which I analyze "A Christmas Carol" in depth, looking for clues that the original manuscript might have been written by Mathew Franklin Whittier (myself in that century), and his first wife, Abby Poyen Whittier.
You know, I have announced this idea many times, and have never had even the slightest bit of feedback from it. I feel like Elmer P. Dowd, announcing the presence of his "pooka," Harvey. As it happens, I may (or may not) be the first to suggest that Dickens drew upon other sources to write his most-beloved work, but I am not the only one. A professor put forth her theory that he got some of his ideas from an 1842 publication featuring the writing of the mill-girls in Lowell, Mass., which had been presented to him when he toured that progressively-managed facility. She was marginalized, as near as I can tell, by her peers, just for suggesting that much. She refused to cite my work, meanwhile, first by trying to claim that she had been first (she hadn't), and then, by asserting that my own work "wasn't directly relevant." This put me on-notice that even though I have clearly staked out this territory, once people start taking me seriously, they may well attempt to by-pass me altogether, claiming it for themsleves.
One not only has to be first; one has to be big and prominent enough to protect one's claim. Sort of like a '49er in California, I suppose.
Anyway, as I carefully read through my explanations, I see that I have really proven this theory (which is based upon dim past-life memory) to a very high standard. It is tricky to claim 100% proof about anything. We know, for example, that the sun comes up in the morning. Can't one at least claim that as an absolute verity? But, it doesn't, not actually. The earth goes down, and the sun stays where it is.
Okay, how about death and taxes? Or, let's just take death. You can state unequivocally that people die, right? Wrong. Nobody dies. They only shed their skin (and in this case, the rest of the body, as well). People who speak to us through mediums, tell us they have never been more alive! And mediumship has been verified as an actual phenomenon through a careful application of the scientific method by Dr. Gary Schwartz of the University of Arizona, who has better academic credentials than 20 of his critics put together.
As for taxes, I don't know. I'm now on Social Security, and I don't pay any taxes. But maybe that's not a fair example.
I think I have proven that Mathew Franklin Whittier and his wife, Abby Poyen Whittier, were the original authors of "A Christmas Carol," to a higher standard than the sun coming up in the morning, death, and (perhaps) taxes. But here is the Catch-22--all the esoteric truths are there for the studying, if you have the maturity of discernment to select the genuine sources. It takes time and effort to study them. It also takes time and effort to study my book. Nobody is going to hand you real information on a silver platter. You have to work for it.
The Catch-22 comes in, that if a person was willing to take the time and effort to study my book, he or she would have already studied even better sources, and would know already. So it's no wonder that people don't want to bother, and dismiss it out-of-hand. It is so much easier to laugh at Dowd's pooka, than to read a book which is now passing 1,800 pages.* But for the matter of that, I'll just tell you, this is a fun book.
Recently, I posted some assertion or other about historical evidence for paranormal facts, on Facebook. These are political progressives. One person responded with one word--I think it was "Hooey," or something like that. I responded, "Do you think you can dismiss 40 years of serious study with one word?"
But people do think they can do that. Again, it is so much more convenient than actually knowing what you're talking about, which takes, on average, about 40 years.
That's all. I have to get back to work. My next break will probably be a quick walk to the beach. Both diversions are equally expected to precipitate an avalanche of interview requests and book orders.
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
*Nobody is holding a gun to your head saying you have to read all 1,800 pages. If you just skipped about, reading the equivalent of a couple hundred pages, thumbed through looking at the pictures, scanned through the results tabulation (the "Scorecard summary"), and read one or two of Mathew's humorous sketches in the Appendix, you would find it more than worth the price of admission. Unless, that is, you are afraid of reincarnation being proven, in which case you will experience an increasing sinking feeling that people generally find quite unpleasant.
Music opening this page: "I Imagine Myself," by the author