I wrote yesterday that I was waiting on two things for my book, "Mathew Franklin Whittier in his own words," for it to be completed: a photograph, and some postal records. The records arrived today, and yielded no new information. Can you believe that someone was interested enough in the exact amounts of money involved in returning unused postage stamps, by every postmaster in the country, in the mid-19th century, to carefully catalogue all these names and all these transactions? No wonder the book was in unread condition...
The photograph is a group shot of my grandfather with the Prime Minister of Greece. My sister, not being very computer literate, had a Xerox print made of it, when I actually assumed she would make a scan. So she will have a niece do it for her, but that will take a few weeks. The one she sent me was good enough--no-one reading the ebook will know the difference unless they compared them side-by-side. So in a few weeks when that becomes available, I'll replace it, but really-speaking, this is done.
There is always the possibility of stumbling upon some new piece of evidence.* Today, on Ebay, I think I may have found another poem written by my subject (i.e., myself in the 19th century); but the attribution is contested and complicated, and I'm going to just include it in my digital archives and not try to defend it in the book. It's a huge book, now--but I just spent about six weeks going over it with a fine-toothed comb, smoothing out the writing and eliminating errors. It's as comfortable and easy to read as I can make it. Although some of the detective work gets complicated, the material and the discoveries I make throughout are fascinating. And, it definitely proves reincarnation.
I was just watching a re-run of the detective series, "Bones." The resident rationalist, Temperance Brennan, is skeptical about cryptozoology (so am I); and the attitude of the show writers in general, despite trying to give equal time through their characters, is obviously that its adherents are kooks. It hit home to me that I am probably perceived this way, which accounts for the morbid curiosity I see in my stats, with very few hits on my book's supporting page, and essentially no sales. There is nothing I can do about it. The work and the evidence is there, but nobody will take it seriously enough to give it a chance, as the matter is already a "done deal" in their opinion.
What I can say, is this: "The false implies the existence of the real." Which means, if you see thousands of kooks, with thousands of false claims and bogus work backing it up, logically, that doesn't mean that everyone with a claim is like that. It means that 98% are false, and 2% are real. The responsibility falls on you to discern. People's failure to discern is not my problem. My responsibility is to be one of the 2% real ones; and their responsibility is to recognize it.
Those who can't recognize it, are probably being protected, not being ready for the information. That, too, is as it should be.
I was thinking, today, what if nobody ever catches on that this is real? What if my work dies with me? After seven years of intensive research proving this case, what if it simply disappears back into the digital ether? Well, I don't think so. But let's wait and see, shall we?
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
*Or a new insight. The evening after I wrote the above, it occurred to me that Mathew might be proven as the author of a disputed travelogue, if his published itinerary could be matched up with his name (or his alias) in the corresponding hotel registers. It turns out such historical registers are few and far between, but the research idea had to be briefly mentioned in the book.
Music opening this page: "Awaken" by Eric Johnson, from the album, "Up Close"