Yesterday, I keyed in another of Mathew Franklin Whittier's star-signed reviews for the New York "Tribune." This one was published about a week after "The Raven" was published; and I think we are still seeing Mathew's reaction to Edgar Allan Poe having falsely claimed it. I have said that Mathew rationalized the situation by taking Poe to be a wayward genius (otherwise, he would have to admit to himself that a con artist had pulled off the scam). Here, he reviews a biography of Beethoven, protesting only that the man whose name is most prominently associated with it, a popular British pianist, had merely translated the work from German and added a short preface. But it is Mathew's comments regarding the nature of genius, itself, and the personality of Beethoven, which betray Mathew's state of mind. Like all naive persons who have been duped, and who have been taught to "turn the other cheek," he is making excuses for his perpetrator.
As evidence, even in context, this is merely "additive," or suggestive. One might say it's consistent and expected, but hardly rises to the level of proof. But what occurred to me, yesterday, is that I've just scratched the surface. I've established that Mathew was a colleague of Poe's, writing reviews for another major New York newspaper, in 1845. And my proposed scenario is logical--I would say, more logical than the official interpretation. But there must be more evidence out there. For one thing, Mathew wouldn't only have been writing reviews. He would have been publishing humorous sketches, and essays, and poetry in other periodicals at the same time (some in New York, and, perhaps, some in Boston, Portland, or other cities). He must also have told his close friends and associates about "The Raven." Some of them told others; and somebody made a mention of it in a journal, or in correspondence. The reason nobody has picked up on it until now, is that they didn't know what they were looking at.
If my work, today, survives long enough, and becomes popular enough that it is publicly known, the next time someone glances at that journal entry, or that correspondence, they will know what it means. For example, suppose someone writes a letter saying, of "The Raven," "I heard from Joe Smith that it was that star writer who was the real author." Up until now, this would have been interpreted as a famous writer. But if my work is known, the next person reading it will say, "Oh, I wonder if he means Mathew Franklin Whittier, who was signing with a single asterisk in the New York 'Tribune'?"
That's a kind of cartoonish example, but you see what I mean. This, by the way, is true of my entire study. I recorded upwards of 90 past-life impressions before I found evidence bearing on them--evidence I couldn't possibly have been exposed to, before. In the results tabulation in the appendix of my first book, I analyze each one, as regards how strongly it was verified (on a scale of "plausibility"), and how likely it was I could have known the information by normal means beforehand. At least a couple of these past-life impressions rise to the level of outright proof (to use the term colloquially, as there is no "proof" in science). Some 20-30 of them rise to a level of being very strong; and all of them (and I didn't cherry-pick) are at least plausible. As I've said before, this happens when your theory is actually correct, because no matter what you poke into, you get positive results.
But those impressions that weren't proven outright, could be, with just one more letter, or one more journal entry. And those things are out there. I found, and purchased, a letter written by Mathew from his job at the Boston Custom House in 1863. It is, simply, a brief note to one "Mrs. N." who wanted to speak with him about the possibility of employment in Washington, D.C. He writes that he has a "villainous" cold, and that he doubts the move would be a good idea, but when his health improves he will visit and he will hear all the arguments. None of my past-life impressions were addressed by this particular letter, though I did learn that he was not happy in that job and was casting about for a new position. Mathew had been an undercover agent for the cause of Abolition, and Washington D.C. was a conservative area. He also probably wanted to continue to work for the Custom House, as a hedge against being drafted as an officer for the Civil War. So, this one is merely consistent with everything else I understood about his life at that time.
But there are many other memory impressions, and also speculations about Mathew's life, that could be transformed from "plausible" to "proven" at the surfacing of such a letter.
That means that this study of mine is far stronger than it appears. Actually it's quite strong, now. The main reason the first book is so long, is because I discovered so much evidence. But most of my evidence is in deliberately veiled form, in Mathew's published works. That anomymous body of work, which he submitted under dozens of pseudonyms (many of them, like "---- Quarles," being one-offs), had to be proven as his; and those that had been falsely claimed by other authors (like Poe) had to be reclaimed for him.
The journal entries and correspondence is far more straightforward, as evidence. I have perhaps 15 pieces of Mathew's own correspondence (as copies from historical libraries); and a handful of references to Mathew in other people's memoirs. Even this is tricky, because it seems that Mathew requested of his friends not to mention him in their journals or memoirs.* Thus, we have people like his long-time editor--and presumably, personal friend--Edward Elwell, who doesn't mention Mathew at all in his journal, and who skipped over him entirely in his public talks, when Mathew's legacy should have been front-and-center. Another of his editors, B.P. Shillaber, only mentions him in his memoirs by his known character name, "Ethan Spike," and neglects to say anything about all his other work under other pseudonyms. Nor does Shillaber mention that he and Mathew collaborated on at least one of Shillaber's books, and was the inspiration for his "Blifkins the Martyr" series. His earliest editor, Joseph T. Buckingham, disguised Mathew's name in his memoirs as "Moses Whitney," and said he had died some years ago!
But the straight, undisguised information is still buried out there somewhere. I've determined that Mathew did keep a private journal, but likely he destroyed it during his final illness. However, his published travel letters reveal that he made a huge number of personal contacts, as he secretly worked for the anti-slavery cause. Some of these people had to mention him in their private papers--he couldn't have sworn all of them to secrecy. What I've been able to uncover, even in the deep historical record, is probably only about 2% of the total.
If my work, today, ever becomes generally known, then this evidence will slowly begin to emerge over the next 50 years or so. And the 90-plus past-life impressions in my "Scorecard summary" (results tabulation) will, one-by-one, rise from "plausible" to "confirmed."
Like many things in life, what it takes is willingness. The ostrich with his head in the sand might or might not be able to see the elephant on the horizon; but with his head still in the sand, the elephant could come right up to him and he still won't be able to see it.
Yesterday, for dinner, I watched Dr. Dean Radin's presentation of his results. If I recall Chris Carter's history of paranormal research correctly, this is the branch which, not being convinced it was possible to prove that spirit communication was from actual persons (as opposed to being some aspect of the medium's own mind), turned toward studying tiny effects of ESP and psychokinesis. He's claiming statistically significant results, and he's rigorously attempting to control all conceivable variables which might be giving him a false positive. I don't remember enough from my statistics courses to be able to follow his logic entirely, but as a layman, I get the gist of it.**
However, while his credentials and his scientific rigor are such that he is able to get published in scientific journals, the scientific mainstream is ignoring him. It is as if he hadn't done the work, at all. In other words, he is up against the same problem that I am.
I tried writing Dr. Radin once, and didn't hear back. One never knows what gatekeeper might have decided it wasn't worth the good doctor's time, so I can't assume that he, personally, rejected me.
Dr. Charles Tart likewise didn't answer; Dr. Rupert Sheldrake did, in a brief, polite response citing lack of time. I've discussed my disappointing dialogue with Dr. Jim Tucker, before.
So I get the same treatment from the fringe scientists, that the fringe scientists get from the mainstream scientists. And while they would disagree, it's the same dynamic. Radical comedian Lee Camp can tell you that his information is being suppressed; but when I mention, in the "comments," that reincarnation has also been suppressed, he, himself, suppresses my information! (He has occasionally reacted to some of my other comments.)
The bulk of the confirming evidence for my study is probably going to emerge after I'm gone. Again, it only takes one diary entry, or one letter, to leverage a statement which now has only a shred of evidence making it plausible, in context, to being flat-out proven.
As they say, it's "just a step away." Sometimes I think all this is planned out, and as it's supposed to be. Timing, they say, is everything. And it has occurred to me, more than once, that if the evidence arises this way, after I'm gone, it's going to be far more convincing than if I tried to present it, now. This isn't logical, really--if I can show that I was careful, rigorous, and honest in my research, my own findings should carry just as much weight. But the reality is, if it is found by someone else after I'm gone, people are going to be more strongly convinced by it. So this, too, is probably built-in somehow.
As regards Edgar Allan Poe's theft of "The Raven," I have presented enough evidence, here in this blog, over the past couple of months, that it should convince any logical person that this is worth pursuing. I've told you what happened when I got into the forum, where this very question was being discussed among scholars online. They first challenged me to present the evidence (or else leave); I tried to explain that there was too much evidence, and it required that I provide an extensive back-story. At that point they were sure I was bluffing. One of them put on a show of open-mindedness, and I began giving that background, and providing one piece of evidence. But the forum was designed for sound-bites and quips. It wasn't set up for lengthy responses. Their software started giving the moderators automatic warnings, that someone was abusing the system. They deleted my initial comments, and shunted my more lengthy explanations to a "chat room," where anyone could engage me in Q&A. That was 10 days ago, and as of this morning, nobody ever did. In other words, not a single one of them took me seriously for half-a-half-a-second. This was the reincarnated author of "The Raven," trying to explain to them what had happened, based on good research and strong circumstantial evidence--and they didn't want it.
This experience is a microcosm. It's what happens any time I try to present my work to anybody. That goes for radio show hosts, and literary experts, and even pioneering scientists.
I do have one radio interview lined up for December, and another tentatively set for the middle of next year. The host of a third show, who has interviewed some big names, wrote me a few days ago (after I provided the link to my documentary, upon request) that his co-host would contact me, but she hasn't, so far. I think maybe I fell through the cracks, or something about my presentation offended her. It doesn't take much to offend people, to the point that they turn away from you--really-speaking, you only have to fundamentally (and effectively) disagree with them on some cherished point or other. For example, literary historians wouldn't have anything to do with me because of reincarnation. Reincarnation experts wouldn't have anything to do with me because I claim to be the past-life author of "The Raven." And so-on.
As I suggested in yesterday's entry, people are going to have to be able to hold seemingly conflicting ideas in their mind at one time; they will have to develop such a burning desire for the truth, that they are willing to bear the acute discomfort of cognitive dissonance; and they will have to gain the philosopher's stone, which is the deep understanding that the one, supra-intellectual Truth resides at the core of every sincere belief, and every sincere philosophy of life. Only that historian will be able to look at my evidence logically, without being put off by my reincarnation claims; only that scientist will be able to look at my evidence logically, without being put off by my literary claims.
Understand that here, I bow to the colloquial use of the term "claims." I don't have claims, any more that Dr. Radin has "claims." I have conclusions based on evidence. And like Dr. Radin, I have conclusions and evidence that the mainstream won't take seriously, and from which Society thus remains safely insulated.
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
*In the 19th century, people would share their diaries with spouses and family, so they were not as private as we would think of them, today.
**If you watch this presentation, note the young woman's face he uses as a graphic--she looks very much like Abby.
Music opening this page: "Remote Outpost" by the author,
created with Garage Band software