Actual Creation of a Flower in the Spirit World

Monsignor's gardener friend seats him, Ruth and Roger around him, while he places a small vessel similar to the ordinary flower pot on a table. At last, he brings them to the climax of their visit—the actual creation of a flower. Into this vessel he pours some ‘soil,’ and requests Monsignor and his friends to watch the vessel on the table.

Notocactus minimus — Yoshikazu Hara 

At first there was little to be seen beyond a slight haze of light round about the pot. Gradually, however, this formed itself into a distinct shape, which one could see was the outline of a stem with a flower upon it. This became firmer and firmer, until there was the complete adumbration of a flower, even to the colour, though this latter was as yet rather pale. But there was sufficient formation to be able to observe unmistakably the kind of flower it was, namely, a tulip.

Tomas Castelazo — CC-by-SA-3.0

The gardener rose from his seat, took up the pot, and examined it minutely, before he pronounced his satisfaction, and then passed it round for us to inspect.

David Mark Purdy

It was a beautiful object, shapely yet delicate, so that one could see clearly through it. I handed it back to its creator, who placed it upon the table once more, and with one final effort of concentrated thought brought the flower up to its full solidity and colour, with apparently little effort.

Campanula — Amada44

There you are, Roger. There’s a nice flower for you. Can you see anything wrong with it?

Alpine thistle (Carduus defloratus) — André Karwath — CC-by-SA-2.5

The boy replied that he could see absolutely nothing whatever the matter with it.

There is, though. Monsignor and Ruth know, but we’ve not let you into the secret yet. Roger reexamined the tulip, but again confessed himself unable to detect anything amiss.

Centaurea montana (perennial cornflower) — Jean-Pol GRANDMONT — CC-by-SA-3.0

As a flower merely to look at, it’s the best we can do, but there is something missing: there is no animation to preserve it. We can’t give it—or any flower—that. That must come from another realm, and we don’t ask for it until we are sure that what we have made is fitted to receive it.

David Mark Purdy

Oh, we make our mistakes, you know; especially my young pupil boys and girls. You expect to have some mishaps when you’re learning, but no harm is done. We return the elements to their source, and begin again.

Chamerion angustifolium — Bff — CC-by-SA-3.0

Sometimes we find a petal, for instance, has not been shaped truly; perhaps one side of the bloom is a shade higher than the other, or the colour may not be exactly as we want it. And so we have to begin again.

My students find an enormous amount of pleasure in their learning, but the greatest satisfaction comes when they are fully proficient, and can turn out a flower or plant as perfect as the picture.

Chamomile Flowers —fir0002 | flagstaffotos.com.au — CC-by-NC

How does the animation come? asked Roger. Do you have to perform some sort of service for it?

Do you mean a religious service?

Yes, something of the kind.

Oh, no. What we do is to send to that higher realm I mentioned, where someone receives our message; after that, all we know is that there is a rapid descent of the power we ask for. Of course, originally, it comes from the Source, but it is passed on to us from another personage. It is a natural process and procedure, and the fact that we have created the flower or plant is sufficient. Our desire for its complete animation is fulfilled; our request is answered without fail, and without question. We shouldn’t ask for it for an inferior article, though we could have it even for that, but our natural pride wouldn’t allow us to do so.

Frithia pulchra — Christer Johansson — CC-by-SA 2.5

At first I examine all my pupils’ work. If any slight modification or improvement is needed, that can be done, but if it’s too bad for improvement, then it’s started anew, and the misformed work is discarded. 

It’s very simple when once you are in the running of it, so to speak. As with many other things, it’s easy when you know how.

Blue wild flower of Cichorium intybus — Joaquim Alves Gaspar — CC-by-SA-3.0

I shouldn’t like to say that—at least as far as I’m concerned, I said. I’m convinced I should turn out a  flower such as had never been seen before, and was never likely to be seen again.

Oh, come now, Monsignor. Would you like to try for yourself?

Indeed, I should not. I should be far too nervous, especially with the three of you gazing at me—and waiting for trouble.

They laughed at my frank expression of plain cowardice.

As a matter of practice, we don’t go about it that way. Every new pupil retires with me into our little sanctum, where we make our experiments and first essays at creation in seclusion. So there’s no embarrassment at all.

Of course, my dear friend, I know that, but all the same I don’t somehow think I should make a great success of it, I affirmed.

Eastern spring beauties (Claytonia virginica) — Ryan Kaldari

Would there be, do you think, a vacancy of any sort for another learner, asked Roger, because, if so, I should very much like——?

To become one, said the gardener, finishing Roger’s sentence for him. There’s plenty of room, and to spare. But before we go into that, let me finish off this tulip. It won’t take a moment. So.

He held the tulip in his hand, and instantly we saw a flash of light descend upon it. It came and was ended almost before one realised it.

Now, said he, we have something very different. Smell.

Clematis hybrid flower macro — Scott Bauer, U.S. Department of Agriculture

He gently waved the flower to and fro before us, and we were at once aware of the most subtle perfume.

Place your hands round the bloom, friend Roger. Roger did so. Why, he said, it’s alive! I can feel the—what is it; sort of electricity?—running up my arms.

No, it’s not electricity, but it is power. That is actually the life you feel, and it’s passing some on to you, for your benefit. We’ve not finished yet. Put the pot on the table, then take hold of the stem of the plant, and give it a little shake, as though you were trying to shake a drop of water off the petals. That’s the way.

As Roger performed this simple action, a most perfect sound issued forth, as of the striking of a small silvery bell, of clear and sweet tone.

He repeated the experiment over and over again, such was his surprised delight.

Clerodendrum bungei — Dietrich Krieger

Do all the flowers make that sound when this is done to them? he asked.

All the flowers, and many other things beside. The water for instance. You can bring out some lovely sounds from that when it is disturbed. But before the tulip was given life, it was silent.

Tulip Tulipa clusiana 'Lady Jane' Rock Ledge Flower —
6-petals, Chanticleer Garden Photographs by Derek Ramsey — CC-by-SA-3.0