I want to express a feeling, but I'm not sure how this will come out...
I've finished proofreading my longest chapter, where I put the bulk of the evidence; and I've gotten in the last of the images I wanted to add. All I have yet to do, now, is to key in a few of Mathew Franklin Whittier's works, which I stumbled upon recently while looking for something else. This has happened fairly frequently. Assuming I'm correct in these attributions, I have something like 650 of his published pieces, plus another hundred or so I'm not quite as sure of. This covers the publications he was known to submit to, plus a few strays that appeared in other papers. But how many of his works are actually out there, hiding in this or that paper, under this or that pseudonym, there's no way to know. One of his pseudonyms was "Grapho Mania," and I now realize that his output was, indeed, prodigious. Nobody knew.
But what is impressing me, now, is something intangible. How do I express this? I should explain that even though I have discovered a genuine past-life match, this discovery didn't come with a full awakening of past-life memory. In fact, I only have a few glimpses, primarily where strong emotion was involved. They are very consistent--never more, never less. They are like knick-knacks on the shelf--I can come back and pick them up and examine them, and they are always the same.
That is what you might call "cognitive memory." But I have full and complete emotional memory. Have you ever explained something to someone, and you get a sort of empty feeling? Somehow, you can tell that it is falling on deaf ears, or that the person doesn't believe you, or they aren't understanding what you're saying. You're not getting any push-back. That is how I feel, every time I make this distinction, and claim to have full emotional memory of my past life.
Oh, well. Whether you believe me, or you dismiss it, I do.
But there is something else, another sense, that I wanted to try to convey. What struck me, is how successfully I was able to piece back together the life of such an obscure person. Maybe I'm the only one who cares at this point--but if it will give you any idea, he was the original co-author of "A Christmas Carol," and the original author of "The Raven." I'm convinced of it, now, both claims. One would think learning who he was, would be a priority.
I do know who he was. In a sense, on the investigative side, it is like the artist who can take a skull, and build up the clay until she has a person there, and you can see who it was. In another sense, it is like finding yourself, or learning about yourself after a bout of profound amnesia. Imagine you have amnesia, and you read about yourself until you know all about your life--and yet, it is still book-knowledge. You only remember a few tiny glimpses. But you can feel it. You are still the same person in your emotions. So every time you read about an incident in your life, which you can't remember, you can yet feel the emotions which went with the experience.
It's like that.
But just the sheer extent to which I was able to rebuild that face, from the barest bones; the sheer extent to which I was able to bring the history of this person to life...it's astounding. And the only way I was able to do it, is because Mathew published so many works, and because he embedded his own personal history and inner life in them so deeply, and extensively. So many of his works are veiled autobiography, once you learn how to read them. I knew this right off the bat--I sensed it. All authors put themselves into their work, but this was deliberate. He essentially encoded his diary into his published humorous sketches, so that no-one but himself would ever get it.
And that is what happened. No-one but himself ever did get it.
You might have seen me mention that Mathew appears to have actually sent me a message, across time. He was leaving me a blatant clue that he was the author of a particular travelogue series, which had been claimed by and for someone else. I had already figured it out, of course. I'm him, after all, and he was no slouch. But it is fascinating that he encoded, into the introduction, that he wanted to tell his future-life-self to notice the clue. It is the only instance of a person successfully sending a message to a future incarnation, that I have ever seen--and I have been studying reincarnation cases for many years.
Does anybody care? Does anybody believe me? I filmed the first (and still, probably, the only) interview of a man seated in front of his past-life grave. It's in my documentary, "In Another Life." One would think that's enough of a first to get a little acclaim for it. But, no. What gets noticed is the guy who set the world record for eating the most Twinkies, or whatever it is.
Well, these days, you can achieve excellence right out in the open, and nobody notices, because they are all tuned into something else, like politics, and wars, and power struggles, and fashion, and pop music stars. I am thinking of the history books I studied in school. I was bored to tears, because it was all about the dates of politics, and wars, and power struggles, with a little of fashion and pop music stars (i.e., like Mozart) thrown in. In other words, the same worldly people who see nothing of value in my work today, wrote those books. Did they mention that President Lincoln was only convinced to free the slaves by people in the astral world, who communicated it to him through a medium? Did they mention that Benjamin Franklin believed in reincarnation? Did they mention that physical medium, Daniel Dunglas Home, levitated in front of credible witnesses? Did they write about Alfred Russel Wallace, the other scientist working on a theory of evolution, who also studied paranormal phenomena, and was a Spiritualist?
No more than the news mentions me, today. It's all about consciousness.
But, I digress. I am astounded, as I close out work on my book--for real, I think, this time--just how deeply I was able to delve into the life of someone who was lost to time, who you can hardly find anything about online at all, in a cursory search.
There may not be anyone who understands what I've achieved these last seven years, but the satisfaction of having achieved it still remains. Abby, my wife in the astral realm (and Mathew's first wife and soul-mate), tells me that power, built up, must someday manifest. It cannot simply "go away." The power I have built up in this study is tremendous. You have no idea.
I apologize for this being so stream-of-consciousness. I am practically dead on my feet at the end of a very stressful day, and about to turn in. I will only point out that people probably think I am writing stream-of-consciousness when I channel Abby's journal. And I am, in a sense, but there, it is with her taking the reins. Can you see the difference? This doesn't sound anything like her, does it?
No clever wrap-up, this evening. Perhaps next time.
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
Music opening this page: "Song for Lynette," by Eric Johnson, from the album, "Venus Isle"