/> Awaken Spirit | Find Your Inner Light: Everything Afterlife – Scenes in the Land of After-death UA-45840438-1

Be soothed, inspired and instructed to live life in fulfilment of that Great Law—Love to God and Man

Search Spiritual Prozac's 9,743 posts—

Showing posts with label Everything Afterlife – Scenes in the Land of After-death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Everything Afterlife – Scenes in the Land of After-death. Show all posts

03 November 2013

The spiritual body pervades the external form

The spiritual body pervades the external form. Bone pervades bone; muscle, muscle; nerve, nerve. The spiritual is a simile of the earthly body. When the earthly dust is brushed off – when it rises into the bright day of immortality – it finds itself the same entity with similar thoughts, desires, passions, affections and emotions. The earth and Spirit-world are similarly related, being intimately blended, without any chasm between them; so that the individual who has obeyed the laws of his nature, passes quietly, as it were, from one room into another, calmly and easily, as the ripened apple falls from its parent stem.

True devotion to Deity is the obedience of all the laws of His nature

True devotion to Deity, of the developed mind, is the obedience of all the laws of His nature.

You must not compare Him with man in this way

Preconceived opinions and tradition exercise great influence over the mind and, although fully convinced that the Deity is an intelligent principle, our thoughts will personify Him in the imagination. Reason alone can set the matter right. So soon as you personify and give God a shape, you circumscribe his limits and power. So soon as you measure him by man, in power or shape, and thus bring him down to finite comprehension, you make him a finite personage.

The finite cannot comprehend the Infinite!

What and where is God?

What and where is God?

Untutored child of Nature, from whence hast thou derived so much truth!

For a moment, free thought broke through the clouds which hung over his mind and Nature spoke through him – 

Behold, said he, these sands are bordered with plants. They grow and give me sustenance. In their growth I behold life and wisdom and, in proportion as my mind expands, I behold intelligence. Look abroad over this waste. See yonder moving pillar of sand. God has moved his breath to do his bidding. I feel his presence in the broad sunshine and in the serene night. The stars reflecting the dim sliadows of the waste remind me that he is far off, yet near.

View the mighty forest, the birds caroling in the branches. I hear his voice mingling with the wail of the spirits of my fathers in the breeze. In the echo of the thunder he speaks to me. Where is he? You are now in his presence. He is ever-speaking to you, for he dwells in everything and is everywhere.

The Sage

Nature is a whole and should be studied as such

Draw a circle about you today and tomorrow's circle will encompass it. The growth of the soul is like the growth of the tree, by consecutive circles, each new growth encompassing all the rest. The soul is exogenous and endogenous in its growth; it grows not only from within but also from without. Each age draws its circle around all those which are past. You may think cohesive attraction a great force – its sphere comprehensive – yet gravitation draws its circle around attraction and a thousand forces beside and gravitation itself is far from a final cause. Some giant mind will, in the distant future, stretch forth his hand and describe a circle which will include gravitation and all its antagonistic forces. You must learn to comprehend great principles and classify facts. By observing isolated instances, you loose the connection and become confused. Nature is a whole and should be studied as such.

Man is the unfolding flower of Nature

Man is the bud, the spirit, the unfolding flower of Nature, which will go on unfolding its powers until it reaches the throne of the Omnipotent Mind.

Affirmation – 

I will reach the standard of perfection You have set for me if it takes all my life in heaven and all the help from the angels of light to accomplish it. 

Man is the bud, which will go on unfolding its powers until it reaches the throne of the Omnipotent Mind

The perfected spirit is the end of creative Nature. For it, the gaseous ocean of the beginning existed; for it, the igneous ball rolled through the vast space for ages; for it, one form of life after another came, type following type, and degree succeeding degree in endless mutations. Man is the bud, the spirit, the unfolding flower of Nature, which will go on unfolding its powers until it reaches the throne of the Omnipotent Mind.

Man is an animalcule on the earth

You look on the earth as a huge ball but, when standing far away on the fixed stars, the whole solar system, the sun, planets, satellites and eomets, appear not as large as the mite in the sunbeams! You look on man as the ultimate of creation; yet there are angels beside whom he would appear far more insignificant than the Patagonian savage beside the intelligent European philosopher. Man is an animalcule on the earth, which is itself but an atom of the universe. There is a vast void between the animalcule in the drop of water and a solar system; yet a greater difference exists between the wisdom of man and the Infinite Wisdom beyond.

I am almost at the end of the race for wisdom

I am almost at the end of the race for wisdom. Foolish thought, when the wisdom of the Infinite God is all beyond.

02 November 2013

Always strive to elevate the mind

Contentment (or rather lethargy) is not the law of nature. Everything strives and aspires to attain a higher state. The infant looks forward to youth; youth to manhood; old age to the spirit-world. He who sits down content amid the scene of upward strife will speedily find himself on the retrograde.

31 October 2013

After-death experience

Platonius, do you not recognise me?
 
Have you forgotten the Portico of Pythagoras? 
 
The Ancient Platonius recounts his thoughts and feelings while passing through death – 
 
It was a cold starlit night when I passed from earth. The fields were covered with a pure mantle of virgin snow. The frost, driven by the northern blast, glistened fantastically in the starlight. There was a beauty in the scenery which, to one fain to tarry longer on earth, would have rendered it hard to close the eyes and say, I have viewed these beauties for the last, last time; I am no more of earth. I could not force back the clouds of mantling night as they rolled over my intellect. Slowly, gradually, I sank down, down into a great black gulf of oblivion. Down, down I sank, beyond all human thought or conception, seemingly millions of millions of miles, with the gloom growing thicker, denser and more stifling. It was an awful sensation to be suspended over that black abyss by a single thread and, as life ebbed away, to feel oneself going down, down into its unfathomable depths. 
 
The last words I heard as I sank down were the lamentations of my family and friends and their sobs and cries as they said I was gone. Yes, gone! gone from earth, its pleasures and its pains. Their sighs seemed my death-knell to oblivion. Down, down I sank for hours after they said He is gone, when suddenly a flood of light burst on my astonished vision as a gleam of lightning and on its wings my soul sped upwards – up, up, up, in that golden light, to earth again. I was conscious and, looking about me, saw my body on the couch. I was a short distance off but still myself. A slight cord of ethereal matter connected me with my form. It was soon broken and I was free. There stood my friends weeping over my inanimate body, inconsolable for my loss. I strove to convince them that I still lived but could not; for I found that my body, though real to me and perfectly organised, was far too ethereal to affect physical atoms. My acquaintances, while on earth, who had gone before me, now welcomed me, at the same time giving me a beautiful mantle. They then conducted me to my new home with the angels. 
 
Ah, how can I express the overflowing rapture which thrilled my whole being, when the sublime reality of immortal life came rushing over my soul, like a gleam of lightning! Words are but faint indicators of the emotions I experienced or the ineffable joy which filled my being. 
 
Centuries have passed away since that time but its scenes still cling tenaciously to memory's abode. I have passed those centuries in traveling from world to world – in traveling the ether ocean that fills up the intricacies between the suns and planets. Let me speak without egotism. When I look back on bygone ages, I feel as if standing on the summit of some lofty pinnacle and looking down on my path until it seems lost in mists and I can clearly see now from what a small beginning I had started.

30 October 2013

Gratitude will cause the tear to flow and the heart to palpitate sooner than the other emotions

Gratitude will cause the tear to flow and the heart to palpitate sooner than the other emotions.

The Sage

Affections set the mind on the plane of angels

Affections set the mind on the plane of angels and throw a halo of radiance around the human soul.

The Sage

Prayer without action is nothing

Remember – 

Prayer without action is nothing.

04 July 2013

Fresh Progression

There is a sameness in such work that makes one example serve for many.

While Franchezzo works to help others, he is gradually learning the lesson which has proven hardest for him to learn – to forgive his enemies and to return good for evil. It has been a hard struggle to overcome his desire for revenge or wish that some punishment should overcome the one who has so deeply wronged him and it is hard to desire now to benefit that person. Time and again while he is working on the earth plane, he goes and stands beside that one, unseen and unfelt, and each time he perceives that his enemy’s thoughts are as bitter as his own. There is no love lost between them. Standing there Franchezzo sees the events of their lives blended together in one picture, the dark shadows of their passionate hate dimming and blurring these pictures as storm clouds sweep over a summer sky. And in the clearer light of his spiritual knowledge, he sees his faults. From these visits, Franchezzo returns to his little cottage in the spirit overwhelmed with bitter regrets and anger towards the one whose life seems only to have been linked by sorrow and wrong to his own.

One day, while standing beside this individual, he becomes conscious of a new feeling, almost of pity, for this person is also oppressed in soul – also conscious of regret in thinking of their past – the first softening and melting of the hard wall of hatred between them. Franchezzo is given a chance to assist and benefit this person and Franchezzo is able to overcome his bitterness and to take advantage of this opportunity.

His enemy is not conscious of his presence nor of his interference for good but feels in a dim fashion that somehow the hatred between them is dead and that, as Franchezzo is dead, it were perhaps better to let their quarrels die also. Thus comes at last a mutual pardon which severs the links which have so long bound their earthly lives together. Franchezzo knows that when death severs the thread of that earthly life, their spirits will meet again so that each may ask pardon from the other. Not until then will all links be finally severed between them and each pass on to their appointed sphere. 

The effects on the soul of our mutual love and hate are great and lasting and they cling to us long after our earthly life is past.

Civil Rights March on Washington, D. C. – Close-up view of vocalists Joan Baez and Bob Dylan – U.S. Information Agency – Press and Publications Service

The Valley of the Phantom Mists

The Valley of the Phantom Mists lies between two precipitous hills. Great wreaths of grey vapour creep up its hill sides, shaping themselves into mysterious phantom forms. These hover around Franchezzo as he walks and as he advances through the ravine these shapes grow thicker and more distinct like living things. Franchezzo knows them to be the thought creations of his earthly life, yet seen in this life-like, palpable form, they are like haunting ghosts of his past, rising up in accusing array against him. The suspicions he has nursed, the doubts he has fostered, the unkind, unholy thoughts he has cherished, all seem to gather round him, menacing and terrible, mocking him and taunting him with the past, whispering in his ears and closing over his head like great waves of darkness. As his life had grown full of such thoughts, so his path became blocked with these fearful, hateful-looking things until they hem him in on every side.

These thought creations have grown up, mass on mass, until now they seem to overwhelm and stifle him, wrapping him up in the great vaporous folds of their phantom forms. Franchezzo seeks in vain to beat them off, to shake himself free of them. They gather round and close him in even as his doubts and suspicions had done. He is seized with horror. He sees a deep dark crevasse open in the ground before him to which these phantoms are driving him, a gulf into which it seems he must sink unless he can free himself from these awful ghosts. Like a madman he strives and wrestles with them and still they close him in and force him back towards the gloomy chasm. In his anguish he calls aloud for help and throws his arms out before him with all his force. He seems to grasp the foremost phantom and hurl it from him. The mighty cloud of doubts waver and break as though a wind has scattered them and he sinks overcome and exhausted on the ground.

When he recovers consciousness he is still resting in that valley but the mists have rolled away and his time of bitter doubt and suspicion is past. He lies on a bank of soft green turf at the end of the ravine and before him is a meadow watered by a smooth peaceful river of clear crystal water. He gets up and follows the windings of the stream for a short distance and arrives at a beautiful grove of trees. Through the trunks he can see a clear pool on whose surface floats water-lilies. There is a fairy-like fountain in the middle from which the spray falls like a shower of diamonds into the transparent water. The trees arch their branches overhead and through them he can see the blue sky. He draws near to rest and refresh himself at the fountain and, as he does so, a fair nymph in a robe of green gossamer and with a crown of water-lilies on her head draws near to help him. She is the guardian spirit of the fountain and her work is to help and refresh all weary wanderers like himself. In earth life, she says, I lived in a forest and here in the spirit land I find a home surrounded by the woods I love so well.

She gives him food and drink and after he has rested a while shows him a broad pathway through the trees which lead to a Home of Rest. With a grateful heart he thanks this bright spirit and, following the path, soon finds himself before a large building covered with honeysuckle and ivy. It has many windows and wide open doors as though to invite all to enter. It is approached by a great gateway of what looks like wrought iron, only that the birds and flowers on it are so life-like, they seem to have clustered there to rest. While he stands looking at the gate, it opens as by magic and he passes on to the house. Here, several spirits in white robes come to welcome him and he is invited to rest. He is taken to a pretty room whose windows look out on a grassy lawn and soft fairy-like trees.

On awakening, he finds his pilgrim dress is gone and in its stead there lies his light grey robe, only now it has a triple border of pure white. Franchezzo is very pleased and dresses himself with pleasure, for he feels the white is a sign of his progression.

White in the spirit world symbolises purity and happiness, while black is the reverse. 

Presently, he is conducted to a large pleasant room in which are a number of spirits dressed like himself, among whom he is pleased to recognise the woman with the child whom he has helped across the Plains of Repentance and Tears. She smiles more kindly on the child and greets him with pleasure, thanking him for his help, while the little one climbs on his knees and establishes himself there as an earthly child might have done.

Night in Luna Park, Coney Island, N.Y. Picture taken ca 1905 and published by the Detroit Publishing Co. – United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division

01 July 2013

Through the Gates of Gold – The Land of Remorse

A spirit’s journey to the Land of Remorse is undertaken voluntarily and shortens the pathway of progression.

In the Land of Remorse the true nature of our earthly life and its mistakes are clearly realised and prove a great means of progression for our soul. Here we see our past actions displayed in all their nakedness. Few who come over from earth life realise the true motives which prompt their actions and many go on for years, some even for centuries, before this knowledge comes to them.

In this land our lives are stored up as pictures which, mirrored in the spiritual atmosphere, reflect the reasons of our many failures and show the subtle causes at work which have shaped our lives. Each passes through a severe and keen self-examination – a bitter experience of our own nature, our own self but though bitter, it is a salutary medicine and goes far to heal our soul of those maladies which hang about it like a miasma.

Most spirits pass through this land whose lives have called for great sorrow and remorse. Those whose errors have been merely trivial, daily weaknesses such as are common to us all do not pass through it; there are other means to enlighten them to the source of their mistakes. This land is particularly useful to individuals who recognise readily and admit freely their wrong and so rise to better things. Like a strong tonic this circle of the sphere would be too much for weak erring spirits who would only be crushed and overwhelmed and disheartened by the too rapid and vivid realisation of all their sins – these must be taught slowly, step-by-step, a little at a time, while those of strong heart and courage are able to rise more rapidly the sooner they see and recognise the nature of those fetters which have bound their soul.

In the spirit world where time is not reckoned by days or weeks or counted by hours, spirits judge how long an event takes or when an occurrence happens by seeing how near or how far away they appear and also by observing whether the shadow cast by the coming event touches the earth or is yet distant from it – they judge what its corresponding time will be as measured by earthly standards but even the wisest may not always be able to do this with perfect correctness since many things may intervene to delay it.

Franchezzo finds his progress slow, for he has taken on the full burden of his past sins and it weighs him down, making his movements very slow and laborious. Like a pilgrim, he is dressed in a coarse grey robe, his feet are bare and his head uncovered, for in the spirit world the condition of our mind forms our clothing and surroundings and his feelings are as though he wears sackcloth and has put dust and ashes on his head.

He comes to a wide sandy plain – a great desert – in which he sees the barren sands of his earthly life scattered. There is no tree, no shrub, no green thing and no water. There is no shade for his tired limbs – his life has been barren of true, unselfish affection and self-denial which alone can make the desert blossom.

He descends and takes a narrow path which seems to lead to the hills on the other side. The load he carries has become almost intolerable and he longs to lay it down but he cannot detach it. The hot sand seems to blister his feet as he walks and each step is painful. As he passes slowly pictures of his past float in the atmosphere like mirages.

Like dissolving views they appear to melt into one another and give place to fresh scenes. A thousand hard unworthy thoughts and selfish action of his past – long thrust aside and forgotten or excused – all rise up before him, picture after picture, until he is so overwhelmed that he breaks down and casting his pride to the winds he bows himself in the dust and weeps bitter tears of shame and sorrow. And where his tears fall on the hot dry sand little flowers like white stars spring up around him, each little waxy blossom bearing a drop of dew so that the place he has sunk down on becomes a little oasis of beauty in those plains of repentance.

He plucks a few of those tiny blossoms and places them in his bosom as a memorial of that spot and rises to go on again. To his surprise the pictures are no longer visible but he sees a woman carrying a little child whose weight seems too much for her strength and it is wailing with weariness and fear.

Franchezzo hurries up to them and offers to carry the poor little one, for he is touched by the sight of its poor little frightened face and weary drooping head. The woman stares at him for a moment and puts the little one in his arms. As he covers him over with a part of his robe the poor tired little creature sinks into a quiet sleep. The woman tells him the child is hers but she has not felt much affection for it during its earth life. In fact, she says, I did not want a child at all. I do not care for children and when this one came I was annoyed and neglected it. As it grew older and was naughty and troublesome or so I thought, I used to beat and shut it up in dark rooms and was otherwise hard and unkind. When it was five years old it died and I died not long afterwards of the same fever. Since I came to the spirit world that child has seemed to haunt me and I was advised to take this journey, carrying him with me since I cannot rid myself of his presence.

And do you even yet feel no love for the poor little thing?

Well, no! I cannot say I have come to love it; perhaps I will never really love it as some mothers do – the maternal instinct is quite wanting in me. I do not love the child but I am sorry now that I was not kinder to him and I can see that what I thought was a sense of duty urging me to bring him up properly and correct his faults was only an excuse for my own temper and the irritation his care caused. I can see I have done wrong and why I did so but I cannot say I have much love for this child.

And are you to take him with you through all your journey, Franchezzo asks, feeling so sorry for the poor little unloved thing that he bends over him and kisses him, his own eyes growing dim as he does so, for he thinks of his beloved on earth and what a treasure she would have deemed such a child and how tender she would have been to it. And as he kisses him the little child puts his arms around his neck and smiles up at him in a half-asleep way that should have gone straight to the woman’s heart. Even as it is her face relaxes a little and she says more graciously than she has yet spoken – I am only to carry him a little farther and then he will be taken to a sphere where there are many children like him whose parents do not care about them and who are taken care of by spirits who are fond of children.

I am glad to think that, Franchezzo says, and they trudge on together for a bit farther until they reach a small group of rocks where there is a little pool of water beside which they sit down to rest. Presently he falls asleep and when he awakes the woman and the child have gone.

Franchezzo gets up and resumes his way and shortly after arrives at the foot of the mountains. The pathway across them is hard, rocky and precipitous with scarce foothold to help him on and often it seems as though these rocks prove too difficult to surmount. As Franchezzo climbs he recognises what share he has had in building them, what atoms his pride has sent to swell these difficulties he now encounters. 

Few of us know the secrets of our own hearts. We so often deem that it is a far nobler ambition than mere self-aggrandisement which inspires our efforts to place ourselves on a higher level than our fellow men who are not so well equipped for the battle of life.

Franchezzo looks back on his past with shame as he recognises one great rock after another to be the spiritual emblems of the stumbling blocks which he has placed in the path of his feebler brothers and he longs to have his life lived over again that he might do better with it and encourage where he has once condemned, help where he has crushed.

He had been so hard on himself, so eager to attain to the highest possible excellence that he had never been satisfied with any of his own efforts – even when the applause of his fellows was ringing in his ears, even when he had carried off the highest prizes from all competitors – and so he had thought himself entitled to exact as high a standard from all who sought to study his beautiful art. He could see no merit in the efforts of the poor stragglers who were as infants beside the great master minds. Talent, genius, he could cordially admire, frankly appreciate but with complacent mediocrity he had no sympathy; no desire to help. He was ignorant then that those feeble powers were like tiny seeds which though they would never develop into anything of value on earth would yet blossom into the perfect flower in the great Hereafter. In his early days, when success was his and before he had made shipwreck of his life, he had been full of the wildest, most ambitious dreams and though in later years when sorrow and disappointments had taught him somewhat of pity for the struggles of others, yet he could not learn to feel true cordial sympathy with mediocrity and its struggles and now he recognises that it was the want of such sympathy which has piled up high these rocks so typical of his arrogance.

In his sorrow and remorse at this discovery Franchezzo looks around to see if there might be anyone near whom he might assist on his path and he sees a young man almost spent and much exhausted with his effort to climb the hard rocks, which family pride and an ambition to rank with the noble and wealthy had piled up for him – a pride to which he has sacrificed all those who should have been most dear. He is clinging to a jutting-out portion of rock and is so spent and exhausted he seems almost ready to let go and fall.

Franchezzo shouts to him to hold on and soon climbs up to where he is and with some difficulty succeeds in dragging him up to the summit of these rocks. His strength being evidently double his, Franchezzo is only too ready to help him as some relief to the remorse he now feels at thinking how many feeble minds he has crushed in the past.

When they reach the top and set down to rest, Franchezzo finds himself much bruised and torn by the sharp stones over which he has stumbled. But he also finds that in his struggles to ascend, his burden of selfish pride has fallen from him and as he looks back over the path he clothes himself anew in the sackcloth and ashes of humility and resolves he will go back to earth and seek to help some of those feebler ones to a full understanding of his art. He will seek as far as he can to give them the help of his higher knowledge. Where he has crushed the timid aspiring soul he will now encourage, where his sharp tongue and keen wit have wounded he will strive to heal. He knows now that none should dare despise his weaker brother or crush out his hopes because they seem small and trivial.

He sits long on that mountain thinking of these things – the young man whom he has helped going on without him. At last he gets up and wends his way slowly through a deep ravine spanned by a broken bridge and approached by a high gate at which many spirits are waiting and trying by various means to open it so that they might pass through. Some try force, others try to climb over, others again seek to find some secret spring and when one after another try and fail some of the others seek to console the disappointed ones. As he draws near six or seven spirits who still hover about the gate they draw back, curious to see what he will do. It is a great gate and looks to him like sheets of iron, though Franchezzo does not know its real nature. It is so high and so smooth no one can climb it, so solid, so fast shut there appears no chance of opening it. Franchezzo stands in front of it in despair, wondering what he should do now when he sees a poor woman near him weeping bitterly with disappointment; she had been there some time and had tried in vain to open the gate. Franchezzo does his best to comfort her and while he is doing so the gate before them melts away and they pass through. Then as suddenly he sees it rise again behind him, while the woman has vanished and beside the bridge stands a feeble old man bent nearly double. As he is still wondering about the gate a voice says to him – 

That is the gate of kind deeds and kind thoughts. Those who are on the other side must wait until their kind thoughts and acts for others are heavy enough to weigh the gate down, when it will open for them as it did for you who have tried so hard to help your fellows.

Franchezzo now advances to the bridge where the old man is standing, poking about with his stick as if feeling his way and groaning over his helplessness. He is so afraid he will fall through the broken part without seeing it that Franchezzo rushes impulsively forward and offers to help him over. But he shakes his head – 

No! No, young man. The bridge is so rotten it will never bear your weight and mine. Go on yourself and leave me here to do the best I can.

Not so, you are feeble and old enough to be my grandfather and if I leave you you will likely drop through the broken place. Now, I am active and strong and it will go hard with us if I do not contrive somehow to get us both across.

Without waiting for his reply Franchezzo takes hold of him and hoists him on to his back and telling him to hold tight by his shoulders he starts to cross the bridge.

Franchezzo fears that they will both tumble into the chasm below and the old man keeps imploring him not to drop him. Franchezzo struggles on, holding with his hands as well as he can and crawling on all-fours when they reach the worst part. When he gets to the middle there is a great ragged hole and only the broken ends of the two great beams to catch hold of. Here he does feel it a difficulty. He feels certain he could have swung himself across but it is a different thing with that heavy old man clinging to him and half-choking him and a thought does cross his mind that he might have done better to leave him alone but he makes up his mind to risk it. The poor old man gives a great sigh when he sees how matters stand and says – 

You had better abandon me after all. I am too helpless to get across and you will only spoil your own chance by trying. Leave me here and go on alone.

His tone is so dejected, so miserable, Franchezzo could never have so left him and he thinks to make a desperate effort for them both, so telling him to hold on tight he grasps the broken beam with one hand and, making a great leap, he swings himself over the chasm with such a will they seem to fly across and alight on the other side unharmed.

As he looks back to see what they have escaped, he cries out in astonishment, for there is no break in the bridge at all and by his side stands not a feeble old man but his spiritual guide himself, Ahrinziman, laughing at his astonishment. Ahrinziman puts his hand on his shoulder and says – 

Franchezzo, my son, that was a little trial to test if you would be unselfish enough to burden yourself with a heavy old man when your own chance seemed so small. I leave you now to encounter the last of your trials and to judge for yourself the nature of those doubts and suspicions you have cherished. Adieu and may success attend you.

Ahrinziman turns away from him and immediately vanishes, leaving him to go on alone through another deep valley which is before him.

82 N. Latitude, panorama shot during the unsuccessful Ziegler polar expedition of 1903-1905