Communications with Spirits—A Nook for Mother

A dedicatory note from the transcriber to the reader—

I trust the reader will receive these messages of love which came to me as if they had come to himself out of the beautiful silences and been welcomed to his own heart. Apart from the consideration of their authenticity, he will thus be most likely to give to them their proper value as evidence and welcome them as agencies of love that lives somewhere and offers itself in gladness to his human heart.

—Albert Durrant Watson (The Twentieth Plane—A Psychic Revelation, George W. Jacobs & Company, Philadelphia, 1919)

Keep your voice low. Light comes where there is least disturbance.

—Mother

Is there anything you wish to say, Mother?

Yes—I love you tenderly.

Do you like Shelley?

Yes.

Do you like everybody?

No.

Did we disturb you by calling you tonight?

Yes. I wanted to be disturbed.

Do any on the astral planes personate well-known people and does it occur often?

Yes, from first astral planes. Not from this plane.

You spoke of the first astral planes. Are they numbered and if so, which are you on?

Yes—about the twentieth.

I asked about a mutual friend.

He walks the valley of burning chaff.

Shall we not all have much chaff of non-essentials to consume?

Yes. But not so much as mortals think. Some can hardly forget money. It nearly damns them. It is a drag. It seals them up. Then they have to thaw out in the valley.

Is Byron with you?

He is in the valley straightening his crooked leg.

You mean his club foot?

No. I am speaking figuratively.

—Mother

The gentle touch of evening be o'er your souls. I am here again, dear son Albert. Oh, be gentle, dear folks, I require calmness. Ask the question in your heart, dear boy.

Ingersoll says he teaches in a college. Is that on your plane, the twentieth, Mother?

Yes. I go to lectures there.

Are Ingersoll, Emerson and Carlyle of a separate group from yours?

Yes. They are of three different groups.

—Mother

Dear, dear Albert, Mother is here. Hush all the tremblings of earth influences. Be as passive as a little child asleep. Ask all questions, my son.

Does the aura disappear when we sleep?

Not always—but it takes journeys.

Does it usually leave the physical body during sleep?

No. Only in dreams—especially some dreams—but not full stomach dreams.

Just in dreams of exaltation?

Yes.

Do the colours of auras change?

Changing like sunlight and shadow on the bosom of a lake.

—Mother

My boy Albert, I am again in your circle of love. Greetings of fraternal love from the Mother group. Ask all questions but remember that Jesus was as gentle as a child. Be amid the soft white meshes of His spirit.

How is our group tonight, Mother?

As usual, very good—Abbott and son are extremely powerful.

I want you to know also our friends, Mr and Mrs Henry Saunders.

I delight to meet them. I kiss them in holy Twentieth Plane love.

Give our love to all members of your group.

They have it.

Will you tell us of Harry's aura?

His aura is blue, pink, yellow and a wee tiny speck of white. That white is from God and will grow.

Louis' aura?

Purple, the colour that soars; pink, blue and red. You know—lots of courage.

Have the lower animals auras?

Yes—especially those that come in contact with humans.

Do they also have astral bodies?

Some only. The horse has.

Do you know, Mother, whether the answers we have received have been influenced to any extent by the instrument?

They have slightly.

Mother, do you ever think of the old homestead?

Yes—and the trees which, near the door, I loved so well.

When I go there, I think of the flowers you used to care for so tenderly.

Yes, they are now in Shelley's Sensitive Plant.

I go out often. Did you know?

I missed your colour there for some weeks now. (I had not been out during the winter because of the deep snow).

The clock struck the hour of midnight.

Was that a bell I heard just now?

It was our clock striking.

Well, well!

Do you not think it has a beautiful sound?

The climax of harmony in a chorus of angels.

We have not heard from Shelley for some time.

He will come on a special evening in your office and the following conditions are to be observed—You, Louis and Myrtle alone on the board for a Shelley time when you desire it.

Having been asked a question of a philosophic trend one evening Mother answered—

Yes—but, my boy, you would have me a philosopher while I would be a mother. O Albert, I want to love you so much. You are as Ingersoll just said, a monument to a mother's ideal. May I go now so as to rest for the time of times of the morrow?

—Mother

The group—I suppose I may say, my group—are sitting now in a valley. Above are many trees. The side of the hill is carpeted with grass. We can hear a waterfall spill over crystal rocks and birds are fluttering here and there. Now in this lovely scene of nature, you attuned to us, we to your group, whom will you have converse?

Mother, will you tell us whether these scenes arouse in you lofty thoughts and feelings, that is, do they act chiefly as symbols or are they just objects and no more?

I see all the vision such things arouse in my soul.

Does Dorothy see exactly what you see?

A little more, for she is a poet.

Would Ingersoll see something different?

Coleridge will answer.

Coleridge speaks—

A great painting on your plane will reflect the faculty of perception just exactly all the Art one has in his make-up. 

I understand. The basis of the actual is as real in that scene in which you are the actors as in the painting of which you speak.

Precisely so.

Well, my Boy, the hour has struck—but in withdrawing, before I pull the silken curtains of my departure, I say, as your father told me to say—Albert, this place is far beyond the most beautiful vision in Love and the Universe. So I leave; you will be here; what could make a mother happier? Dora has Harry; she will kiss him and give him to Devotion.

—Mother

My boy, I come in the soft meshes of love to you. How are you, Albert, my boy?

I am exalted and happy. Do you know the Mother poem I have written for you?

Yes. I lay the tribute of my love on your breast for such sweet token of your life in tune with mine, dear boy.

The chapter also on Mother in the book? Do you like it?

Well, I will say this—Yes. No. You see, dear son, you say I am worthy of the greatest place but, Albert, I here feel more humble each little while.

Well, I will take the responsibility for that part of the chapter.

Well, so be it.

—Mother

Coleridge is great.

We call him here the brilliant mind. Once we saw flames belch from his eyes.

Indicating what?

That he was a volcano of truth.

—Mother

Albert, my own, here I am as one who just softly came to kiss the darling of her dreams in wakeful and quiet moments. 

Dora says I often mention your name when in the lap of a restful reverie. 

And so, Dear Albert, I speak to you the words of a mother's love.

—Mother

I come as a little girl carrying a message from your mother. Shall I read it? This parchment reads—

Dear Albert—Mother stepped aside to allow the men of wisdom to converse but she is happy in the knowledge that you and all the souls in the circle of your home are being lifted up to the heaven where all things love God.

—Dorothy Wordsworth

Mother's Day—

You and we will now rise from the couches of rest and enter the circle of larger thought. This was the keynote of this Mother-evening suggested by Samuel [Coleridge] to me, my boy.

—Mother

Now, I will give the Mother-prayer which, in the silence of this higher life, the agents of the divine sang to my soul.

To Mothers everywhere—

I kiss the heart of the maternal and say to the God of all, it is all in all to be a mother. On the mountain top just as the day breaks, one sees the heavens lighted from angel eyes but this is not nearly as sublime as the light in the eye of a mother for her child. So to the Being of all I send the spirit of thankful women. It is the highest station in life to be the valley through which crept one of the souls of men. This is the function of the mother. Mothers are humble through pain, worry and the misery of anticipation of the long waiting and often then the ideal crashed to pieces at the base of the cliff of earth life but God said it is well, so I, in the mothers' prayer, simply say, as Jesus did, Thy will be done.

—Coleridge

My boy Albert, again I come to you. O Son, be in my spirit. This is your true dwelling place. I am glad when I see your faith. Dora this day said to me this—It is not so wonderful that the communications have come through, as is the slight amount of error which has occurred all through.

I am to you, O Son, the same dear Mother of other days and you in a sense will always be to me a boy.

Now, my boy, I just lay (my) astral head on your bosom. I am always with you. Your father too. We often see the home you are coming to. We call it Albert's place. You see how near I am to you.

Dora wants you to be sure to get description of homes here into the book.

We are preparing to receive thousands from the earth plane and we are resolved to give our best to these souls just arrived.

Friedrich Böhringer—Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic