The Passing

The Passing

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;

The soul that rises with us, our life’s star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting.

And cometh from afar—

Not in entire forgetfulness.

And not in utter nakedness.

But trailing clouds of glory do we come To God, who is our home.

Our birth into this new life differs in almost every point from our birth into the earthly. We owe our earthly body to others; our psychic body to ourselves. 

That is, the state of development in which we arrive here depends greatly on our past life, and we may be said to be born here as infants, children, or mature beings according to the past life and the present state of the true self. 

Our psychic body is being formed within the earthly during our earthly life, but the materials of which it is composed are not earthly but are finer, rarer, though still material, and capable of outward manifestation to the psychic vision.

The clay out of which the Spirit of Life creates our new bodies is not the old red earth, not the old Adam, but is like unto the resurrection body of the Master; a body which could not see corruption, and which the grave could not hold, though it might be guarded ever so closely.

The psyche, then, when it has quitted the earthly tenement appears immediately and suddenly in this—just as you see a man when he emerges from his house; a moment ago he was invisible to you, now he is completely visible. So it is here; the body, which is the only part of a man visible to your eyes, is the part that is invisible to us and hides him from us. Sometimes he appears for a moment here—shadowy and unreal, more like a vision—then disappears again for a while. 

This is when the soul is loth to leave the body and lingers near it.

When the time arrives for the psyche to quit the earthly plane and leave its earthly covering behind it, then the link which unites it to the physical is broken. This link partakes of the two natures, and the only pain and struggle connected with this passing is when the soul is unwilling to loose its hold on the earthly, or fears to do so. Then a moment of unconsciousness supervenes—a time of longer or shorter duration, according to circumstances. The psychical does not generally quit the body immediately, but slowly withdraws itself, and then only the body gradually decays and disintegrates—the lower forms of life escape to reincarnate themselves in some other form, while there must always be a certain degree of life abiding in each atom, for without it they would have no existence.

So the spirit of the animal goeth downward, remaining in the earthly sphere, and the spirit of the man goeth upward, entering into the higher life.

We now have the man, divested of his lower form, ready to enter into the intermediate state. And with what body does he come? With one that closely resembles the earthly one—very closely indeed at first—but with powers infolded within it that far transcend the old ones, though those powers are yet more or less dormant. 

The man is still far from being a pure spirit; he bears a form like the Master’s, a form which is in four dimensions, and which cannot be seen by ordinary earthly vision. The old body is the matrix in which the new man is formed, and from which, by the pangs of death he is parted, to enter into his second life. 

Now how does he appear on our side? Our eyes do not see the physical, which you always must bear in mind. What we see of the earthly is only the soul-image reflected in some medium. It is therefore after this uncovering that the newborn appears within the scope of our vision. He awakes and finds himself in a state that seems to him at first but the same to which he has been accustomed; he continues—as he thinks—his old life, until the fact gradually dawns upon him that the great change has taken place and that he has passed from death unto life.

Communicated by automatic writing, I Awoke! Conditions of Life on the Other Side, 1895, David Stott, London, Part I, The Psyche, The Passing, 22-6

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The Change from Mortal Life to Immortality

I am Arthur Wellesley, known while on earth, as the Duke of Wellington, and at the age of 83, I finished my mortal career, or worldly existence, on the 14th day of September, in the year 1852. 

I am now commanded to describe the sensation I experienced while leaving the tenement of clay, which I inhabited. 

While lying upon my bed, supported by pillows of down, surrounded by every worldly comfort and luxury, with friends and relations bending and weeping over my aged and shrivelled form, watching, with the most intense and expressive anxiety, as each breath of vitality escaped through my parched lips, until, at length, by the convulsion of each successive fit, the difficulty of breathing increased, and my limbs gradually became paralysed and benumbed with a terrible sensation of a knowledge that death was at hand. 

I made an effort to speak, but the power of articulation had left me, and my limbs lay motionless and unable to obey the dictates of my will, although I felt that even raising a hand would abate the sensation. 

At length, the appearance of the apartment darkened, and all, for a few moments, appeared wrapt in gloom. 

The same moment a terrible sensation of cold, chilly, deathlike agony, seized my frame, while my heart appeared as a cold heavy stone, or icy substance—the weight of which forbade the office of its functions from being performed; and a dreadful noise, as if many waters were dashing furiously upon the rocks, filled my ears, and I made efforts to raise my head, but in vain. 

At that moment, a sudden thrill of indescribable pain ran through my whole frame; my limbs set, as with cramp, with an explosive sensation within my breast, and all was then still and tranquil, and my eyes again, as it were, opened, and I perceived the nearest friends bending over me, while tears bedewed their cheeks, and heard them articulate in stifled whispers the ominous words—he is dead. 

I appeared to smile at the assertion, for no pain was upon me, and I felt at ease, gazing upon them with astonishment and wonder, and made an effort to assure them of the contrary, but could not stir. 

At this moment, I appeared as if enabled to see in every direction, and felt as though in a dream, going from place to place without my body stirring, and knowing that it remained in the same position. 

I then felt myself seized by the shoulders, torn away through the apartment, which opened before me as if in a dream, was borne through the air, and could perceive fields, trees, hedges, waters, towns, villages and hamlets, which had the effect of bewildering my imagination, till at length, I found myself in total darkness, beyond the sound and reach of human ears or gaze, and then, for the first time, discovered the reality of my position. 

Here I could distinctly hear a complication of sounds of an appalling description, mingled together in the most distracting discord—music, singing, howling, screaming, with the most frightful yells of fear and alarm, which made me think of the reality of a hell. 

But I did not remain long in this state, but was shortly on my way back to the place where I had left my body, and which I knew was dead. 

I found my friends had left it cold and stretched to the full length. 

I gazed upon it with horror and amazement, and knew that it was myself, and then mingled thoughts of the world and my past life flashed before me. 

I endeavoured to persuade myself that my experience was a dream and wondered at the agility with which I moved from place to place, weak and feeble as I was, but there was the stem reality before me, cold, motionless and stiff. 

I endeavoured with my will to uncontract the limbs, to raise the head or the hand, but in vain. 

Still, I knew it was my body, and my will had exercised its power over its functions, which performed their office as I desired, but the effort was useless. 

I knelt by it, looked upon it with horror, felt of myself, and exclaimed, Are we separate beings, or what does this mean. Again the thoughts of the words, He is dead, recalled to my memory my exact position, and I knew I was only, as it were, the shadow of the reality, and wondered within myself what experience would next reveal. 

At this juncture, the door of the apartment opened, and fresh friends entered to see my body. 

They astonished me when they passed without noticing me, and though I knew them, some of whom were the most intimate friends, and offered my hand, it was unperceived or unnoticed. 

I wept bitterly on finding that I was in the room invisible to all excepting myself, and with these thoughts, I turned from my body, but, at that moment, observed the outstretched hand of an old friend whom I had known in former life, and who had died some twenty years previous. 

This inspired me with fresh hopes, and he kindly led me from the room unperceived or unheard. 

I, however, remained around the premises, and in the apartments, which contained my body until its interment, and witnessed the useless pomp displayed on the occasion. 

I also witnessed the tears of those who were nearest to me in ties of relationship and grieved that I could not explain to them the great relief I had experienced in the change from mortal life to immortality. From old, decrepit, feeble humanity, 

I found myself relieved from every worldly care and burden, but still experienced a terrible dread of the future. 

I must now leave you, for the present, but will give further description of the future state when permitted to appear.

 J. G. H. Brown, First Sitting, 16 March 1856—A Message from the World of Spirits, Holyoake & Co. London, 1807