What ensues after death?

To those who have asked the question—

What ensues after death?

The Twentieth Plane—A Psychic Revelation brings light and comfort, and dedicates anew the truth of all time—

There is no death!

The dialogues presented here depict a picture of life in a very definite environment. 

As the reader will observe, gone are economic questions from their thought—here, there is no threat to self in service of others.

There is no night, in the sense of gross darkness. 

Long twilights prevail with beautiful pink and purple sunsets, and opal and emerald dawns.

And there is food as ideal and ambrosial, as your poor imagination could paint.

There is clothing that leaves the form untrammelled, flowing in filmy folds along the contours of those astral beings, whose grace and dignity, whose alertness and repose, are enhanced by the caresses of its soft enfoldment.

And there are silken couches of rest.

There are landscapes, peaceful valleys and rugged mountains, rivers and waterfalls, bays and seas.

Birds sing sweet music, and the heart listens to the music of the spheres.

There are ministries of joy and sacrifice. 

There is hospitality, so that for the daily meal, ten chairs are set more than the group of resident astrals need; that no stranger who may come in may feel unwelcome.

Their chief occupation is helpfulness. 

They are ministering spirits who go out in helpful service to those who are longing for inspiration—the wooing kiss of the divine that fills the soul with emotion and vision, and builds the structures of life to heights of wisdom and love and power. 

Only those who are not hospitable to the harmonies of that sphere fail, for a time, to enter the glories and inspirations of that noble life.

Education is another great interest on the Twentieth Plane. 

Art and music, poetry and drama, philosophy and religion, have a home here, and crowning all with a radiance that words cannot reveal, the self is forgotten in love-service.

If your scene was lit by an eternal sky of pink amid which was a clustering of gold and green; if your air was the distilled essence of astral flower perfume, and if your eyes saw more than is in all the physical universe, then you would be only on the fringe of the love-lap of nature in which we bask.

Do you know how we signal here that the time has come for certain events?

By a strange hush—lasting but the fraction of an earth second. 

So, instead of making a noise, you make a silence.

—Louis Agassiz

Louis Agassiz (1807-1873)

What do you see where you are?

I see all that you see—

And more.

Is there any night where you are?

It is a soft pink twilight.

What is your food?

We absorb chemicals.

Is there any farming on the astral planes?

No; the chemicals come without our effort. We have other important things to do.

Do you know what the chemicals are?

Proteins. The liquid juice of a rice product.

A beef extract is made of a synthetic meat product. A saccharine sugar like your own. We have phosphates. Fats too are made here synthetically. All the equivalents of your richest foods. These constitute our diet.

The distinction between our food and yours is one of vibration.

Shall we know each other in astral life?

Yes; if you want to.

What are some of the occupations on your plane?

This is of the utmost importance, so I will step aside while Samuel speaks. Here he is.

—Mother

One of the most important avocations we follow here is this—

The knowledge that those of your plane require a higher form of inspiration is to you obvious, is it not?

Then we study to be the ego to enter into the consciousness of those on your plane who deserve our entry into their subnormal life. 

Often we have spent years in the thought-life of a higher being of your plane.

The law for success, in that form of activity on our plane, is one of perfection of character, sincerity, humility, love, sympathy, vision, and the electric form of the super essence of thought vibration, vibrating in the colour aura of the cosmos in infinite activity.

—Samuel Coleridge

What have you been busy at?

Teaching young folks.

Shall I add a little picture of our landscape?

Then—

A broad open expanse of sky; in the distance, one lone tree; a path to that tree; house—milky white; the sun, all agleam with the radiance of deep orange; in the near foreground, a park, in which open-air school is held; many happy children; the teachers all, as happy as the scholars.

The lesson is nature study, so a pigeon is perched on the open palm of the instructress. 

All the little faces thrill, and this—

In the open, where the twilight is like an angel's tread on the carpet of God's presence.

You say it is twilight, yet you speak of the sun as being up.

In just what position is the sun and how can it be twilight with the sun shining?

I am merely an observer of nature in the picture view.

But do all see it as you do?

As the picture philosophy was told you.

 

Each sees what he looks for.

Is that a Twentieth Plane attribute?

All great laws penetrate all planes.

Shall I tell you how we punished a delinquent?

Well; we ascertained that he coveted the garments of another, so we gave them to him. He was cured.

Do you talk in words on the astral plane?

Yes; on a word foundation.

You said you heard Shelley's lecture. Did he use words and sentences?

Yes; eloquently.

How are words conveyed there?

By a much keener rate of vibration.

Are they vibrations of ether?

Yes.

Then are they light vibrations?

I do not know. Am not a scientist.

—Mother

We have no doors; we keep out intruders with a wish. 

We eat one meal only. 

We sleep four hours, like your Edison. 

We have no jails. 

We have some delinquents and cure them. Sin is disease, as I said in my lecture on criminals. 

We never smoke.

—Robert G. Ingersoll

Robert G. Ingersoll

What is your chief occupation now?

Student now.

Can you tell us about your environment?

Yes; houses, vegetation, people; like the Alps in Switzerland.

How do you spend your days?

Reading and nursing.

Do you sleep well?

When I want to. We can do without.

When you passed over, whom did you first see?

I slept for a year. 

When I awoke, I was in a crowd. 

I did not know any of them. 

I was not lonesome, and did not know I had passed over until I had had a few lessons.

Do you know Frank? [A young friend lately deceased].

No; I am upstairs, as it were.

—Father

 

What are you doing on your plane?

A man of letters.

Do you have printed books and papers there?

Yes.

How are they printed?

By thought machines. We think an article into existence by concentration.

Do elements of astral bodies go back to their old forms?

About that.

How long does one live in the astral body?

About two hundred years, but that is no criterion. 

Long-life depends on will. 

I am positive there is no such thing, as immortality for the human ego, if you mean astral or physical.

If we mean spiritual, what then?

Lives forever with self-consciousness; a little loss at varying intervals, but regained in increased form, as evolution controls the spirit's progress.

Has the spirit entity any form?

Always a form.

—Elbert Hubbard

Elbert Hubbard

Tell us of your visit to—

She is still in that semi-dream state.

And yet you say she is very happy?

In wakeful moments.

—Mother

Empirical shall be our talk tonight.

Who is speaking?

—Coleridge

We speak from experience. 

Opium was a narcotic 

I am just recovering from—along with an earthy characteristic I used to have—that of indolence. 

I will answer questions from experience, and not as one greatly learned.

When you passed over, how long was it before you took notice of things?

Nearly five years.

Did you sleep all that time?

A trance-like condition.

When you awoke fully, did you see anyone you knew?

Harriet, Hogg, Dorothy, your mother, Shelley, and a note from Byron who was in the valley.

—Samuel Coleridge

Samuel Coleridge in 1795

 

Do many persons pass over without losing consciousness?

None.

Do any wake immediately?

Yes; you will.

You did not regret your assassination, did you?

No; not half as much as Mary Todd.

Is death as painful as people think?

Not painful at all.

Did you not suffer?

No; never regained consciousness.

—Abraham Lincoln

Will you make clear to us the system of progress in astral planes?

A sleep, and a forgetting, is the first step. 

Your mother slept for a year. Same with brother, Will. Abe also. The astral body requires about a year to adjust itself to this rarer, more mature environment.

Mother thought I might sleep half a year; another, not at all. 

The rule is not an arbitrary one.

You think I shall not sleep?

Those who told you know best.

—Dorothy Wordsworth

Dorothy Wordsworth

In the process of so-called death, we die here, as on plane five (the earth plane), that is, we go into a state of profound coma and are cast into the void of useless bodies.

Is it possible to descend to a lower plane?

No; but you go to the valley where the demolition bow-wows get you if you are not good.

—Elbert Hubbard

Call her of the brilliant aura to the board.

Do you mean Eulalie?

Yes.

What are the colours of Eulalie's aura?

Purple, orange and green entwined.

What does purple mean?

Worship.

And orange?

Intellect.

And green?

Truth.

—Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Ask sparkling soul to come to the board.

Is that Eulalie?

Yes; I will tell you about the colours of auras now.

Yes; Mother. 

Did you hear Professor Abbott and me talking about these?

Yes; I got ready then.

Tell us what you will, Mother.

Pink is devotion.

Pure white is the colour of the saints. 

Ingersoll says that Gladstone's aura was green and gold, showing intellect and versatility.

A. D.'s aura is pink, green, gold and white.

Brown is bad.

Black, worse still.

Now about white. Listen! White comes rarely. Only Emerson had such an aura in America.

Shall I tell you the auras of all present?

Sarah's—pink, yellow, green.

Professor Abbott's—nearly all yellow. Great intellectual colour there.

Amy's—pink, white, yellow.

Miss M.'s is the same.

Mr M's—green, white, a little purple because of grief, and some red. Strong character there.

Girl on A. D.'s right—very, very good; lots of white, yellow and pink.

Myrtle's—green, white, pink and blue. That is originality.

Do you remember Harry's colour?

He is in the astral body on my lap now, so I do not see his aura.

Do you have ships and navigation?

Navigation of thought. 

No ponderable things like ships are necessary.

Are there no means of locomotion like trains, etc.?

No, no, no!

Then your wings are thought?

Of course; we can travel to places in the body, but it is merely the result of a whim.

In travelling slowly, do you simply think yourselves along?

We come to you in thought projection. 

We usually do the same on this plane.

If you wish then, you can visit your friends on your plane?

Yes—or they us.

Do you not see them unless you are near them?

As we see; thought and vision are closely allied here.

Are thought and vision due to nearly the same rates of vibration?

Yes.

Is there a great variety of languages on your plane?

The same as in your world, but we combine all languages.

Do you mean through thought?

Yes; and thought essence.

Do you have rain, snow and frost, as we do?

No.

Then do plants grow there without rain?

We have moisture, dews.

Do you have the sun, moon, and stars there, as we have?

Yes.

Do you feel the heat of the sun, as we do here?

We control all such conditions by thought.

Is medicine used there?

Yes; elixirs. Water here too.

Has every plane its corresponding valley?

Yes; all.

Are there towns and cities over there?

No; we live in groups.

Not in families in separate homes?

In groups.

Families are not together in definite groups?

No. No!

Case of birds of a feather flock together!

Yes; if you want to be graphic.

Have you met Canada's great woman poet, Isabella Valancy Crawford?

No; she is on the thirtieth plane. A beautiful poet.

Is she so regarded over there?

Very much so.

—Dorothy Wordsworth

Isabella Valancy Crawford

 

Please tell us how you know the future?

We see causes set in motion.

But the astral plane is right here, is it not?

I am about 500 miles above the earth plane. I am home; my thought is projected to you.

Tell us exactly what you mean by home on the astral plane?

Residence. We have our nooks. Twenty is the average group in a home. Mother is in our group. She knew she could reach you through such a group. That is her reason for living with us.

Can you live with any group you like?

Yes; but governed by character.

—Elbert Hubbard

What is your particular reason for coming to us tonight?

To obey Albert's mother. 

Desires are commands here.

Have you known Mother long?

Met her at my talk one year ago.

Does one feel a desire for stimulants on the astral planes if one has had the appetite here?

For a period.

The earth plane, having been described as the fifth plane, the question is asked—

What about the four planes below the earth plane? My thought about them is hazy.

They are hazy planes. Let it go at that.

Do inhabitants diminish in number on the higher planes?

On planes near the fifth, more people than here. The ratio increases until the tenth is reached. 

On 1,000th, there are very few. You know—types like Plato, Socrates, Bahai, etc. There is no end to progress, but we cannot comprehend beyond the 1,000th.

Is there much difference between successive planes?

Yes; as between people on your plane. The numbering is done to show the steps of a ladder as it were, but only in a general sense; not arbitrarily at all. Just a symbol system.

Are all systems of numbering astral planes and sub-planes also merely symbolical?

Arbitrary. Too supposedly exact and therefore erroneous. Stumbling to light through the darkness.

—Dorothy Wordsworth

I suppose it does not matter just how one numbers them?

Freedom is a beacon light that says Ever on.

There is no end to their number?

No.

There is no end to any good?

No; I must leave. I wave a hand of love. I will return.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Is there much writing there?

None; except records. No books. The voice is a better medium than the cold page.

But the voice is evanescent; the cold page permanent.

I meant here. We can recall all at the behest of desire. We have all the libraries here in counterpart. Sanskrit is preserved as the most sacred language.

When Sappho spoke to us she used English.

As the medium, so is the language. 

Thought belongs to the universal. 

Our thinking is like your music—the language understood by all. 

We speak with the glance of an eye, the heaving of the bosom, the walk of courage, the head held high.

I will quote a translation now from the Greek to express my thought—

Behold Æschylus as he strides along, his head erect, a man above them all.

The body, the effort, the thought here is a part of the language.

Have you met Fox?

And Chatham, the elder. Walpole is here.

Do you live in groups on the Twenty-first Plane?

Yes; groups. Your group is something like ours here. Those of the same rate of vibration and the same pitch and keynote are naturally singing together in groups.

Do you visit Plane Twenty?

Yes.

Is the landscape there similar to yours?

Things become to us shrines of everlasting grandeur.

Is that on the Twenty-first Plane?

On the Twentieth too. 

As the moon observed in the Venetian city from a gondola is more beautiful than the moon of the desert, so the splendour of this plane is more sublime than that of the Venetian sky.

Have you any interest in the Irish question?

Yes; but it is in a chaotic form so let the cauldron boil. The residue will be pure gold.

Was Parnell* a great man?

Very; and she was his viper. Stung him to death. How cruel the vampire is when it sucks blood! Reason, sense, dignity, courage, the control of high purpose are all gone.

The love worthwhile should stimulate these, should it not?

Yes; and now I must go and think thoughts for oration. May I come again with Fox?

—Edmund Burke

*Charles Stewart Parnell (Irish—Cathal Stiúbhard Parnell; 27 June 1846—6 October 1891) was an Irish landlord, nationalist political leader, land reform agitator and the founder and leader of the Irish Parliamentary Party. He was one of the most important figures in 19th Century Great Britain and Ireland. Source—Wikipedia (Charles Stewart Parnell - Wikipedia)

Was Kate Wordsworth of whom Dorothy spoke the wife of her nephew, Charles Wordsworth?

More of her anon.

What colour is Dorothy's hair?

As the sun burnished by Jove.

Her eyes?

As the blue depths of the Morning's glory.

Her gown?

The drapery of flowing clouds of white.

I always thought Mrs Eddy was a very beautiful soul.

—Mother

But Edith Cavell, when she came here and wakened amid the flowers and trees of this plane, was perhaps the most wonderful vision of beauty in repose that we have ever seen. 

Dora is a wild pagan of glory. 

Mary is the quiet beauty of thought; 

Edith is the sleeping beauty of time.

Now, brother quill-user, I will depart. 

The pool you saw was the vision of this plane reconverted to you*. 

Water finds its level. 

And now, in your eyes, the Twentieth Plane comprehension; in your soul, the spirit of our life; in your life, the idealism back of the purpose of things—all in contact are along the road to immortality, so be not faint.

*This was a reference to a line the transcriber discovered in his consciousness on waking a day or two previously—The silvery pool that dreams in the moonlight.

—Percy Bysshe Shelley