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9/22/18
My last round of digitizing, proofreading and archiving of my past-life published work, as Mathew Franklin Whittier, is completed. There are more leads I could pursue; for one thing, I'm seeing evidence that when Mathew was in London, in 1851, he may have contacted one or more of the illustrators who worked for "Punch," with the idea of having them illustrate some larger work he was contemplating. The only thing that came of it, perhaps, was that Henry George Hine illustrated his parody of "The Raven," entitled "The Vulture," which he published anonymously in the Dec. 18, 1852 edition of the Boston "Carpet-Bag." Historians point to its reprinting in "Cruikshank's" humor magazine in England in 1853; or to its reprinting in Dec. 1853 in the Philadelphia "Graham's Magazine." They seem to be unaware of the first, earlier appearance in the "Carpet-Bag," nor does anyone seem to be interested in that evidence. This isn't speculation, now--this is hard evidence that the scholars are wrong. Since the piece is unsigned in all instances, some of them speculate that the author was the British writer Robert B. Brough, perhaps because they identify the illustrations as Hine's work. Others suggest John Saxe.* One interesting clue is that where the poem appears in Cruikshank's, there is one illustration missing--and all of them appear to have been skillfully redrawn to match the originals.

But Mathew Franklin Whittier was a silent financial partner in the "Carpet-Bag," and if you look deeply into his style, and into this paper, itself, you find that he was a frequent contributor, and that "The Vulture" was part of his own series, in which he was using in-line illstrations the way that "Punch" and other British humor magazines did. Only one of them wasn't Mathew's, and that was written by his pesky imitator in that paper, John C. Moore.

What this means is that you have can good evidence--the kind that academic skeptics say they want, and ridicule fringe theorists for not having--and still they will ignore your work.

Yesterday, during dinnertime, I watched a good bit of a lecture by alternative theorist Michael Tellinger. He started with his findings of ancient power stations, made of quartz-laden stones in South Africa, which worked on the principle of amplifying sound vibrations; then he got into mud fossils of ancient giants (one of them a mile high); and when he got to stars shooting out large amounts of water, he lost me. But just for the heck of it I Googled that last item, to see if there actually was a scientific report of stars emitting water, and sure enough, I did find one. I intend to go back and finish watching the rest of that three-hour lecture, reserving judgment. I don't know what to make of it. From my understanding, you can't have a mile-high human being, because his bone structure and internal organs couldn't withstand the pressure. I don't know that the mud-fossil of a 3x-normal human heart wasn't just a carving and so-on. But he's certainly got my attention.

It occurs to me that our modern civilization developed largely by learning how to harness steam, and then, electricity. But there is no reason that a civilization couldn't similarly advance by exploring sound and vibration, instead of electricity. From bits and pieces, that's what it's looking like, to me, regarding the advanced civilizations of pre-history.

Oh, Tellinger also said there was a published study saying that someone had made sound go faster than the speed of light. I'll have to look that one up, too. That would certainly change our conception of things. Personally, I've never bought Einstein's use of light as a constant. It strikes me as a cheap substitute for the only real constant, which is God. That, in turn, suggests to me that Einstein, and perhaps other theorists of that era, got their ideas from studying the Vedic scriptures--much as I recently suggested the Transcendentalists had done--without crediting their sources. In other words, it's basically plagiarism--a watering-down of the original source, which had been obtained through Gnosis, to produce materialistic science which would be acceptable to a materialistic culture. It wouldn't be the only example--Darwin's theory of evolution is another.

Kind of like what the alien theorists claim, as regards reverse-engineering downed alien spacecraft.

Well, I'm just musing. On the personal front, I've got a new job. I always try to follow my astral wife, Abby's, prompting in my personal affairs. Doing so, I got the first job I applied for, here in Portland, in elder care, and did that for six months. My instructions from Abby, as I understood them, were to just keep haunting the job listings, patiently, looking for that one viable opening. I did so for six months, and then noticed there was an opening at the bread bakery/cafe a half-block from my house. I applied for it, and got it.

This will prevent me from having to drive on hilly country roads, during a snowstorm, in the early-morning hours. I would have had to do that if I'd retained the eldercare job. Now, I can look out my window and enjoy the snowfall (as I have always secretly wished I could do, living all my life in the South), without being concerned about smashing up my new car.

The challenge, here, is mostly physical--standing on my feet, at age 64, for an eight-hour shift. I did some internet research on shoes, and I'm going to invest in some good ones. I should be able to tough it out. After all, I'm a Mainer, now.

Tomorrow, I'm going to attend a local psychic fair. There should be a couple of mediums giving readings, and one who might be there advertizes past-life readings. If there's a sign-up sheet, I'm going to just use my last initial (so no-one can accuse her of looking me up online), and see what she gets. I'll wear Abby's locket under my shirt, as I sometimes do.

And because I feel that I stressed myself to physically dangerous levels, during this last round of research, I'm going to try to leave it there. There might be significant clues still to discover about Mathew Franklin Whittier's life--perhaps, over time, some of them may come to me, unbidden. I never know what might pop up on Ebay, for example. But I think I have all the clues I need for my public presentation. Too many, perhaps. I proved the case (both cases, inasmuch as I was proving reincarnation and reconstructing Mathew's legacy at the same time), far, far beyond a reasonable doubt. As I've said before, the reason I kept going--aside from personal fascination and compulsion, I suppose--is that I never got any push-back. Nobody would take it seriously, so I just kept on gathering evidence.

Now, I will be returning to my roots, by revisiting the writings and life of my Guru, Meher Baba. I'm starting with his "Discourses," reading them aloud to Abby. Abby has told me that people in the astral world very much enjoy being read to--that it's kind of like a vibrational massage, for them. Meaning, when their loved one on earth reads for them, because it is a vibrational energy which is impregnated with their loved-one's personal energy, and I gather it envelopes them in some way. So, sight-unseen, I read aloud to her. A lot of these things I do on faith--I figure that once I cross over, and can talk to her face-to-face, I will find out how much of it was real. We can laugh about the part that I was imagining, and she will thank me for the part that was real. All this means that I keep a rational, sane approach to it, whatever it might look like to someone on the outside.

I can do that, because I know, from having it proved to me, that the basics of the relationship are real. The particulars, I often don't know, for sure, so I have to act "as if."

The cynic of course, can't accept that any of it is real, and thus is forced, by that assumption, to ridicule the whole. But note that my approach is actually the more scientific one. There are no extremes of belief and disbelief in science. Neither the wild-eyed fanatical conspiracy theorist, nor the squint-eyed cynical materialist, are scientific. The guy who says, "As near as I can tell, these are mud fossils, not carvings, and they are comprised of body parts which are three times the size of a normal human being," is the scientist. The guy who says "Science says that there were no giants, so there were no giants," is the dogmatic cynic.

Just so, I went for years not feeling that I could definitely assert that I had been Mathew Franklin Whittier in the 19th century. I researched deeper and deeper into the historical record for nine years, and proved it over and over, until now I feel I can assert it. People automatically assume that I "claim" it as a matter of fond belief, and that I must be manufacturing my "evidence" to fit. That's a theory, but it's simply a theory that doesn't hold water. That isn't what I've been doing.

So now the work appears to be done. My sequel is something like 250 pages long--a respectable size for a book. When I first started it, primarily to document my exposure to physical sites connected with my past life, here in New England, I was afraid it wouldn't be very interesting in its own right. Now, however, it is at least as good, in my estimation, as the first book. Not only that, but the new discoveries put the seal on several of my earlier speculations.

I actually sold a copy of my first book, yesterday. I hope that person isn't daunted by its length. Probably 3/4 of the size of that book is devoted to proving Mathew's authorship of his anonymous works, many of which were claimed by, and for, other authors. That wasn't an easy task, but it was absolutely essential to wrest his work from these various claims. Most of my evidence lies in these newspaper items--I had to prove they were really his. Most of these pieces are now forgotten, but a handful of them are famous, and it was obviously going to be an uphill battle in those instances. If and when readers simply acquiesce, "Yes, MFW was the real author," I could probably shorten the book drastically. There is one hidden benefit to Mathew having written anonymously, and to his work having been falsely claimed by others--and that is, that I could not possibly have known about it previously. Where I had run into the more famous pieces (even in childhood), I felt something special about them, deep down, but didn't understand what that was all about.

In any case, it's a fascinating ride--at least, I think it is--through Mathew's works, and especially, through his travelogues. These letters to the editor, from various points around New England, and in Europe, amount to a published diary. They permit the reader to really get to know Mathew personally, in part because he revealed a great deal of his inner mind and heart in these letters. He wrote as though he was writing a personal letter to the editor (and, by proxy, to the reader). They read, in fact, very much like his personal correspondence to his brother does, of which I have several examples. I don't mean that I physically own them, I mean that I obtained copies from various historical libraries. I only own one physical letter written by Mathew.

And I must say, it is a unique experience to hold in your hand something that you wrote with a different hand, a different body, and even a different brain, 155 years ago. No flashbacks have occurred--it's just the poignancy of the thing. When I was writing that letter, taking a quick break from work at the Boston Custom House, and suffering from a "villainous" cold, I never could have dreamed that I would someday be holding it, in different hands, in year 2018.

We just don't know what's going to happen.

What I think Abby is telling me, is that this bread bakery job has been arranged for me, because through increased contacts with the public, I am going to meet someone who is going to help launch me, somehow, in my presentation career. At some point in the not-too-distant-future, I will find myself frequently jetting out of here to various conferences, much as Mr. Tellinger is doing. I won't even recognize my life, as it is now, she tells me.

We shall see. For the moment, I have to prepare for this new challenge, de-stress, get my health back, and figure out how to stand for eight-hour shifts two or three times per week without damaging my feet or my back. The interesting thing about this new job, for me, is that I will be fully plunged into Maine culture. Working for a larger company, I was sort of insulated. Now I will really be among Mainers, working shoulder-to-shoulder with them. And do you know what got me this job? It was my personality. But all I was doing was falling instinctively back on Mathew's personality. It was he who could "hold forth" and joke around with the best of them. I was, somehow, able to sort of "flip" into that side of him. He had many sides--there was the brooding recluse, the Stoic, ever grieving for his lost soul-mate. There was the mystic, who would actively reach out to her; there was the nature mystic, and the deeply sensitive appreciator of music. There was the philosopher, and the debater, whom few could stand against. There was the crusader for social causes, and the under-cover agent for Abolition. But first and foremost, for him, there was the storyteller, the humorist--that part of himself which resorted to humor to overcome the hardships of being brought up in a highly dysfunctional family. That devil-may-care fellow who won Abby's heart, when she was a shy Victorian recluse, and a brilliant but dimunitive literary and musical prodigy.

I can still reach back to that; and somehow, I did so automatically and instinctively (not deliberately) when connecting with the manager of this bakery. It wasn't false acting--it was really me, but it was me from before Abby died in 1841.

Well, I don't know if any of this personal stuff is interesting to anybody. It's 6:24 here, and time to get some breakfast. I think Abby is telling me that eggs and toast is okay for this morning. I'll probably write again tomorrow, if one of the psychics at the fair turns out to be especially accurate.

Best regards,

Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.

*Mathew was aware of John Saxe, and admired him. It even appears he knew him personally. Writing as "Quails" for the Boston "Weekly Museum" from Worcester, Mass., on March 29, 1851, he says:

We have been led into the above vein of thought, on thinking of our long friend, John G. Saxe, the Vermont Attorney, and Henry Howard, a young lawyer of much ability in this city. Mr. Howard, though young in years, is quite distinguished as a shrewd, well-read, and successful lawyer, and he has written a number of fine things for the various magazines of the day; but being "over-modest" on the subject, in our opinion, he has tried to keep his real name from the public, that he might still more assiduously ponder over the intoxicating composition of Blackstone. If we could find language strong enough, we would also give friend Saxe a "blowing up," for not throwing out his effusions before a hungry public oftener than he does; but we are a little afraid to attack him, for fear he will "epigramize" us and then we should n't be "no whar."

For anyone new, here, "Quails" was not written by entertainer Ossian Dodge as claimed; that travelogue was Mathew's work.

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