Spiritual Brand of Gossip

As Monsignor and his friends return to his home following their visit to the house in the forest, and their conversations there with their two friends, he observes that Roger is in deep thought —

I’ve noticed, remarked Roger, that no one seems to use surnames here. I don’t know even yours, or Ruth’s.

We had returned to our home directly following upon our visit to the house in the forest, and our conversations there with our two friends had evidently set up a train of thought in the mind of our protégé.

Why, no, Roger, I replied, that is so; but then our surnames have no significance in this world. In fact, to the new arrival, there might almost appear to be some irregularity in the employment of names generally; no fixed custom or order about it. Here it is always a matter of personal identity, and not family identity.

There is at least one fixed order of names here, and that is with the names that are of purely spirit world origin; names that are formed or built up in accordance with rules. Each one of them has a distinct meaning, and belongs to no earthly language. Names of that kind are after they have been earned, and are only to be obtained through beings of the highest realms.

As far as identity goes, you might take our Ruth as an example. Everyone hereabouts—and in many other quarters—knows her as Ruth, and it’s a recognisable earthly name, as are many others.

Mine is a designation, rather than a name, and on earth is an ecclesiastical title. You will recall that I mentioned that we have no titles here. This is no breaking of the rule, because the title, Monsignor, which I held on earth, is always used by folk by itself, and never with my name conjoined to it. Our friends on earth started it, though they do sometimes use my Christian name. So the word Monsignor is impersonal as a title, but attached to me as a name for practical reasons.

I noticed neither of you bothered to know my surname, said Roger.

That is so. There’s no need. You’re already known as Roger, as you have seen for yourself.

The same thing applies to Franz Joseph and Peter Ilyitch?

The same, exactly. We’ve simply lopped off their surnames, and they’re not a scrap the worse off. What’s most important is that no one complains about the custom, or rule, if you like to call it that. Everybody’s happy.

Do you remember, Roger, when we were chatting about age and identity, the difference that returning to the prime of life might make in one’s personal appearance, so that a person might not be recognised for the individual he once was. Names will have something of the same effect, as you can see.

When the higher personages go to the earth to speak to friends there, they are usually known by some name that has been specially chosen or invented for them. We have a very case in point. You heard me say to Peter and Franz that word had reached me that someone wished to see me?

Yes; I thought perhaps you were making an excuse for coming away.

Roger, protested Ruth; what would the earth folk say if they thought that telling fibs was the common practice in “heaven” for ending social calls?

As a matter of fact, old fellow, we don’t need to tell them—which saves one an awful lot of worry and fuss.

Then what would you do if you wanted to get away from anywhere because you were a bit sick of it?

I can’t say that situation has ever arisen that I know of. What do you say, Ruth? Can you recall any such?

No, Ruth answered, I can’t say I do. We never seem to have such awkward situations.

Because, my dear, they don’t exist—and couldn’t. No boredom, no question of outstaying one’s welcome. All this, Roger, arises from your suspicion that we were telling whoppers so as to get away from Peter and Franz gracefully. The fact is that while we were there a message was “flashed” to me, that was all. It was not urgent, otherwise I shouldn’t be gossiping here like this. The message came from someone who constantly visits the earth to speak to many friends there, and as we were upon pleasure rather than business I responded at once that we were available. Had the message come when Ruth and I were upon “escort duty,” the same kind as we performed for you, Roger, I should have sent back word of what we were doing, and in no circumstances would we have been expected to place ourselves at the disposal of anyone else, however illustrious. On the contrary, we should more likely get into trouble for leaving our work of the moment. Everything works upon lines of sound common sense and reason in these lands, Roger.

Pity it doesn’t do the same on earth, observed Roger, dryly.

You may well say that. The visitor I’m telling you about is an eminent personage from the high realms, but his identity has been concealed under the simple yet effective name of Blue Star, and it’s derived in a sensible, straightforward fashion from the fact that part of his personal insignia, if I may call it so, consists of a magnificent jewel, made in the form of a star of brilliant blue precious stones, more precious, my Roger, than anything that could be found or made upon earth. We’ll ask him to show it to you when he comes.

He doesn’t wear it always, then?

Not always in these realms, not visibly, that is.

Being seated before one of the windows I was in a position to observe our visitor the moment he made his appearance in the garden. Roger guessed my reasons for so seating myself, for he asked, Is it customary for people on visits to come the long way round? I mean, to walk through the grounds rather than “think” themselves into the room?

Yes, Roger. That is the method we’ve employed all along in the few calls we’ve made round about. There’s no law about it, you know; merely what good sense and good taste dictate. If the need for one’s presence were vitally urgent, then we might use the thought method of getting us wherever we wanted to be, and so appear right in a person’s presence without delay. But in all ordinary circumstances we behave like ordinary folk, and so present ourselves, walking upon our two legs, and, if necessary, we should knock on the front door—though I don’t ever remember doing that part of it.

You’ll find, Roger, as you go on, that you’ll instinctively do the right thing. So don’t let that detail trouble you. Calling upon our friends on earth is a different matter altogether. We went very quickly to your room to fetch you, and there were no formalities about knocking to be let in. If we had knocked, and by some chance your people had heard us, they would have been terrified, I expect.

I should think they would. Most likely thought I was making a dreadful end, and that someone worse than the old gentleman with the scythe had come to take me away.

Ah, here is our visitor, and he’s not alone, I said, as I perceived two people walking through the garden.

Who can the other be? Ruth remarked, as she came over to the window.

In a moment they drew sufficiently near to be recognised.

Why, it’s Phyllis, Ruth cried, and hurried out into the garden.

Ruth and Phyllis are old friends, I explained to Roger, and then went to greet them.

Well, my children, said Blue Star; we were on our way to do a little work with our earth friends, and this young lady suggested that we make a detour, and pay a call. You were not at home when you received my message, I understand. 

No, Blue Star. We had taken our friend to see Franz and Peter.

Ah, yes, that is good.

Could you spare a moment to see Roger? I’ve been telling him about you.

Not revealing all my dreadful secrets, I hope, said Blue Star with a laugh.

Come along in and meet Roger, said Ruth to Phyllis; he’s such a nice boy. He was our last “case,” and now we’re having a holiday together showing him the sights.

There was a marked contrast between the two girls, for Phyllis has dark hair, while Ruth’s is a bright golden. Roger rose as we entered the room, and I presented him to Blue Star and Phyllis.

Well, my son, said Blue Star, you look happy and well and that is not surprising, is it?

No, sir, the lad replied with a smile.

Call me Blue Star. Everybody does; and why not? It’s my name, after all—or one of them. Some of us have several names. On earth, I believe, if one has too many names one is apt to be regarded with suspicion, but here it is different. The name I had on earth has caused the most trouble, I fancy. But that is not my fault, but the fault of the people who have used it a shade too freely.

Blue Star smiled. His voice had a soft timbre, and he spoke carefully, it seemed to me, and with deliberation. Young though he looked in years, yet his voice revealed a man whose advent into spirit lands had come centuries ago. It is a distinctive quality that makes itself apparent to the practiced ear, where all outward signs of the ravages of earthly time have long since vanished. I learnt very early in my life here, that to try to assess people’s ages is a dangerous task!

I wonder, Blue Star, if I might ask a favour of you, I said, for our young friend here?

Certainly, Monsignor. If it’s possible for me to grant it, you have but to ask.

We have been telling Roger about names here, and I explained the origin of your own.

And now you wish a practical demonstration, and to see the origin—is that it?

Blue Star threw open one half of the rich cloak he was wearing, and displayed upon the inner garment the superb star that we had described to Roger.

Come close, my son, and examine it properly. It is very beautiful, isn’t it? I doubt if you have ever seen anything like this on earth, eh?

Oh, impossible, Blue Star.

You see the wonderful characteristics of spirit world precious stones, my son. They need no reflected light; their lustre, their brilliance come from within themselves. If you could, by some means, take this star, or any other jewel, into the dark it would shine out like the sun in beautiful colour. Monsignor, I believe, has described it as “living light.” That is absolutely so. The jewels on earth, lovely as they are, rely upon reflected light for their beauty and their effect. Take a priceless diamond, shall we say, into the dark on earth, and all its glory is gone. There are many, many other wonderful jewels in the spirit world besides this one, my son, and all of them made of this same “living light.” As I expect you know by now, these cannot be bought in the spirit world.

No, Blue Star; I understand that. Monsignor and Ruth have told me a great deal already.

No buying and selling here; only earning. And isn’t that true justice? It places us all upon an equal footing, and each of us has the same level chance to earn many wonderful things—like this blue star, for instance. Has Monsignor told you much about these jewels?

No, Blue Star, nothing, I interposed. It wasn’t until your message came that the subject cropped up.

The only reason I asked is because one doesn’t want to tell you what you know already. Well, then, my son, I expect you wonder what they represent. In strict truth, they represent nothing but their own worth and beauty. They are what we would call adjuncts to our life, and are personal rewards for various services rendered.

Something like the orders they have on earth.

Something, my son, but not much! You see, these are not the insignia or jewels of exclusive orders, such as I understand exist on earth. Here they are open to all, without discrimination, who care to earn them, and they are not for certain privileged people as the custom is in some cases on earth. We carry no letters after our names because we are holders of such awards. That, I think, is a good idea, because some of our names would appear very odd decorated in that way; and then there is no call for us to proclaim that we are holders of such an award.

You are fond of beautiful things, I can see, my son, since you find infinite delight even in this one example of spirit world beauty. You did not, by chance, see the jewels that Franz Joseph and Peter have? No, of course not. They would hardly show them to you unless you asked them. They and their brothers-in-art have many exquisite examples among them. All for services they have rendered to us here with their grand music. Why, now, I seem to be doing a great deal of talking. Is it a good habit, I wonder, or a bad one? What do you say, Monsignor?

Well, Blue Star, it can be a bad one; not here, I admit, but on earth, especially if one says the wrong things, as I did, from many a pulpit!

Blue Star laughed. I can say I do a fair share of talking now, on earth, he said. There is one thing people cannot accuse us of here: that we get too talkative in our old age. I expect, Roger, at first, you felt you could hardly speak at all as the wonders of these lands were unfolded to you by our friends.

That is so, Blue Star. I’ve mostly felt tongue-tied, or else kept my mouth closed, and eyes and ears open.

An admirable thing to do on occasion, my son. When we were on earth some of us spoke when it would have been better and wiser to have remained silent, and some of us remained silent when we should have spoken.

I am guilty under both counts, Blue Star!

Are you, indeed, Monsignor? said Blue Star smiling. The person I was thinking of was not you, but myself! Now, Roger, you will never guess where Phyllis and I are going when we leave here, which must be in a moment or so, for time draws on. Ah, that surprises you, doesn’t it? How can time draw on? Not here, but on earth, whither we are bound. Monsignor often comes with us, but not on this occasion. We are to journey to some friends on earth where Phyllis and I, and others, will exercise our awful propensity for talking, and try to cheer our earthly friends. Goodness knows, they need cheering—the whole earth needs it. And the people there could have it, if only they would all turn to us. It’s a grey old place the earth, eh, Roger, after this brightness and colour?

One day, said Phyllis, we’ll take you to see our earth friends. Do you think you would like that, Roger? Phyllis asked with a captivating smile.

I’m afraid I don’t know much about that sort of thing, Roger replied with evident caution.

No, of course you don’t. You can’t expect to discover everything in five minutes, can you? You wouldn’t have to go alone, you know. There’s any number of us, and we usually go in a party.

I rather think that Phyllis has a particular partiality to parties, said Blue Star with a laugh.

Franz and Peter and others from the musical quarter often go with us. And Radiant Wing, too, and heaps more.

Not to mention old Blue Star, himself, said our eminent visitor.

Blue Star, don’t say old, said Phyllis indignantly.

Thank you, my dear child, but my comparison with the rest of this present distinguished company, I am not exactly a youth.

I expect you feel like one, said Roger.

Ah, yes; that’s another thing. Now, my child, we must really be off. It has been very pleasant to have this little idle chat with you all, though doubtless, according to earthly notions we should have been discussing deep, deep questions that one here wants to discuss at all, and trying to explain things that have no explanation. It would have been highly edifying but extremely dull. I much prefer our own brand of gossip. It’s more entertaining, and I am sure it will do us much more good.

And so with a wave of the hand our two visitors left us their journey earthwards.