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Rh been great in his day was evident by the care taken on the subject, the ground having been marked out and raised for about three inches in the shape of a canoe, and in the centre stood a little house made of bark in and out, between the upright sheets of which were placed the nets of the deceased, and inside were the weapons used by him. There was also a bed made of nice soft grass inside, and, as I afterwards ascertained, the nearest male relation of the deceased had there to sleep, and keep watch and ward over the body of his kinsman till such time as it had become too far decomposed to admit of being removed by any enemy.

That cannibalism is sometimes practised by the blacks I have been often told; but I believe that in those cases the bodies of deceased persons only have been eaten, and not any one killed on purpose; and I knew one instance where the body of an old woman was eaten, and her own son partook of part of it. I have also on various occasions seen blacks during a corrobboree gnawing a human thigh-bone—doubtless of an enemy—and thereby exciting themselves to a pitch of madness. I have also known a lubra, as a punishment for her misconduct and negligence, made to carry about for months the body of her dead child, wrapped up in an opossum rug; and on one occasion I happened to sit down on a bundle near a wirley, and finding an unpleasant smell, I enquired what was in the bundle, and soon learned to my great disgust that it contained the body of a child which had died some months previous. The blacks, as a rule, avoid camping near any grave, and never mention the name of any deceased member of the tribe, and regard any enquiry after them by the whites as an insult. In parts of New South Wales, such as Bathurst, Goulburn, the Lachlan, or Macquarie, it was customary long ago for the first-born of every lubra to be eaten by the tribe, as part of a religious ceremony; and I recollect a blackfellow who had, in compliance with the custom, been thrown when an infant on the fire, but was rescued and brought up by some stock-keepers who happened accidentally to be passing at the time. The marks of the burns were distinctly visible on the man when I saw him, and his story was well known in the locality. In early years, when intercourse took place between the blacks and whites, and children were the result, the boys were invariably destroyed, but the girls kept; and it was not till the whites became numerous, and the blacks began to dwindle away, that the practice fell into disuse, and the boys were allowed to live.

As a general rule, both fathers and mothers are very kind to their children, and very rarely indeed strike them; and I have been often amused at seeing a rebellious urchin of perhaps eight or nine years of age take up his mimic spears, run a few yards away, and then hurl them with all his force at his mother, who, good woman, would make a buckler of her opossum rug, and thus ward them all off, laughing all the time at the harmless rage of the would-be warrior. That they are very fond of their children and will at any time venture their lives for them is also beyond a doubt; and I knew an instance where, in a skirmish which took place many years ago at New England, the blacks, after being worsted in the fight, swam across a river, leaving in their confusion a child behind them. A Maori who was living at the station, and had been

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312 engaged in the struggle, seeing the child, took him up, and held him out to the blacks at the other side of the river. The father, on observing the child, seemed almost frantic, and held out his arms eagerly towards the child, making at the same time signs for it to be given to him. The Maori pretended to be willing to restore the child, and entered the river with it, at the same time carefully concealing his tomahawk, making signs to the black to meet him. The man eagerly waded into the river and swam across, and when he got within reach of the Maori, the treacherous monster immediately brained him with the tomahawk, and the body, with that of the child, which was also killed, was left to whirl down the seething waters, a sad return for parental love and devotion.

When a male child was born, a name was given him referring in general to the locality where his advent took place. On attaining puberty, a second name was conferred; and on arriving at manhood, the third and final one, by which he would be after designated. Many tedious and in some cases painful ceremonies had, however, to be passed through before the young man was duly qualified to take or steal a wife, set up on his own account, and earn for himself a reputation for good or evil as a brave and determined warrior or a mean and despicable coward.

All the Aborigines along the coast from York's Peninsula in South Australia to Western Australia are not only circumcised but are mutilated also in the manner mentioned by Mr. Eyre. The rite of circumcision has, no doubt, been perpetuated by the Malays, who, in days past, visited the Australian coast in search of the trepang or sea-slug, an article prized as much by them as the edible swallows'-nests by the Chinese; and the other practice was perhaps introduced by some Aboriginal Solomon to prevent the too rapid propagation and thereby starvation of the race; and it certainly is surprising how, under the circumstances, there are any children at all. The rite is supposed to be practised when the boy is about seven years old; but I have known some who had managed to evade it till about fifteen, but were then pounced upon; and as the operation was performed with either a sharp stone or shell, it must have been both a painful and critical affair for the patient. During the last year previous to arriving at manhood, the unfortunate novice had to live a solitary life away from the tribe, procure his own living, and not come near any place where the women were; no doubt to teach him habits of self-dependence, and leave him some green spot for memory to dwell upon when, in after years, he would be harassed by the cares consequent on being a family man.

About Adelaide, Encounter Bay, and the neighbouring localities, the young man was distinguished during the last year of his novitiate by being plentifully besmeared, from head to foot, with red-ochre and grease mixed, which gave him the advantage of not only being impervious to the attacks of mosquitos, gnats, &c., but of being duly advertised as a marrying man. Both men and women were marked on the back, shoulders, chest, and belly with raised ridges

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title: Page:Aboriginesofvictoria02.djvu/340


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Rh formed by making incisions and then filling the cut with charcoal, which answered as a styptic, and also kept the lips of the wound apart and formed the desired ridges. The arrangement of these marks differed amongst different tribes, each tribe having its own peculiar and distinct coat-of-arms; so that those versed in such lore could at once, in looking over a body, decide to what tribe it belonged, and send the information, if required.

Along the Murray, Murrumbidgee, and Lachlan, and in New South Wales, all the males, on arriving at manhood, have either one or two teeth knocked out of the left side of the upper-jaw, as a distinguishing mark; and at certain seasons of the year certain ceremonies are gone through at a distance from the main body of the tribe. These ceremonies occupy several days, are performed in covered-in wirleys, where only the initiated are admitted, and from which the females are most carefully kept a long way off. Certain signs are also used amongst the initiated, and it may therefore be fairly presumed that a species of rude Freemasonry exists amongst the Aborigines, the bequest perhaps of some amongst the many strange visitors who visited these coasts in the far-off days of yore. It is a well-known fact amongst the old settlers, that Aborigines, both old and young, who were in their employ and apparently perfectly comfortable and satisfied, would yet, on the receipt of the summons, insist upon going away immediately; and no temptation, however great, could ever induce them to stop, nor, on their return, could any information be obtained from them as to what had been done at the meeting.

It has always been the practice amongst the Aborigines for the warriors of one tribe to make incursions into the territories of another, either to steal lubras, or to surprise and attack males, who, after being struck down, had an incision made in their sides, through which the caul-fat was drawn, and which fat was carefully kept and used by the assassin to lubricate himself—the belief being that all the qualifications, both physical and mental, of the previous owner of the fat were thus communicated to him who used it. On the Upper Murray, a cord, about the thickness of ordinary whipcord, was formed out of the sinews obtained from the tail of the kangaroo; this cord had a running noose at one end, also two small bones, each sharpened to a very fine point, so fixed that when the noose was drawn tight the points would enter the jugular vein at each side of the neck. Armed with one of these, a black would steal at night up to the camp of another tribe, and, having selected some sleeping man, slip the noose round his neck, strangle his victim, and depart with the coveted caul-fat, without creating any noise or alarm. That these nooses were not used by the Aborigines on the men of other tribes alone, but also on Europeans, is beyond a doubt, as I recollect an instance of a shepherd who, having, at the expiration of his term of service, left the out-station at which he was employed to go to the head-station, and several days having expired without his arrival, an alarm was caused, and a search made, when the body was found, with his faithful dogs lying beside it, with the mark of the fatal noose round the neck. It was afterwards ascertained that the man had engaged a blackfellow and his lubra to carry his swag, and most probably the sight of the blankets had been too much of a temptation to the black; the

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 would play when not playing; or may we not say that he has the power of playing on the harp, when he does not play, but when he does not do it, of doing it?

Some indeed solve this (sophism) in another way, for if (the respondent) grants that he is able to do so, they say it does not happen that he who does not play plays, for he does not grant that he does it in whatever way it is possible, nor is it the same thing to say as it is possible, and in whatever way it is possible to do it. Still, it is evident that they do not solve it well, for of arguments from the same (place) there is the same solution, but this will not suit all, nor questions in every way, but is (adapted) to the interrogator, not to the argument.

Chapter 21
indeed are not derived from accent, neither in writings nor sentences pronounced, unless there may be a few, such as this argument, "Is a house?" yes! "Is not the negation  yes! "But you said that  was a house, therefore a house is a negation."  How therefore the solution must be made, is clear, for "" does not signify the same thing, when pronounced more acutely, and when more gravely.

Chapter 22
, it is evident how we must oppose arguments derived from things asserted after the same manner, which are not the same, since we have the genera of the categories; for the one


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The Astral Plane/Chapter III

INHABITANTS HAVING sketched in, however slightly, the background of our picture, we must now attempt to fill in the figures — to describe the inhabitants of the astral plane. The immense variety of these beings makes it exceedingly difficult to arrange and tabulate them. Perhaps the most convenient method will be to divide them into three great classes, the human, the non-human, and the artificial.

title: The Astral Plane/Chapter III


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Collier, Joel


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The Astral Plane/Chapter III/I

I. HUMAN The human denizens of the astral plane fall naturally into two groups, the living and the dead, or, to speak more accurately, those who have still a physical body, and those who have not.

Living
The men who manifest themselves on the astral plane during physical life may be subdivided into four classes:

The Adept and his Pupils
1. The Adept and his Pupils. Those belonging to this class usually employ as a vehicle not the astral body at all, but the mind-body, which is composed of the matter of the four lower or rupa levels of the plane next above. The advantage of this vehicle is that it permits of instant passage from the mental plane to the astral and back, and allows of the use at all times of the greater power and keener sense of its own plane.

The mind-body is not naturally visible to astral sight at all, and consequently the pupil who works in it learns to gather round himself a temporary veil of astral matter when in the course of his work he wishes to become perceptible to the inhabitants of the lower plane in order to help them more efficiently. This temporary body (called the mayavirupa) is usually formed for the pupil by his Master on the first occasion, and he is then instructed and assisted until he can form it for himself easily and expeditiously. Such a vehicle, though an exact reproduction of the man in appearance, contains none of the matter of his own astral body, but corresponds to it in the same way as a materialization corresponds to a physical body.

At an earlier stage of his development the pupil may be found functioning in the astral body like any one else; but whichever vehicle he is employing, the man who is introduced to the astral plane under the guidance of a competent teacher has always the fullest possible consciousness there, and is able to function perfectly easily upon all its subdivisions. He is in fact himself, exactly as his friends know him on earth, minus only the physical body and the etheric double in the one case and the astral body in addition to the other, and plus the additional powers and faculties of this higher condition, which enable him to carry on far more easily and far more efficiently on that plane during sleep the Theosophical work which occupies so much of his thought in his waking hours. Whether he will remember fully and accurately on the physical plane what he has done or learnt on the other depends largely upon whether he is able to carry his consciousness without intermission from the one state to the other.

The investigator will occasionally meet in the astral world students of occultism from all parts of the world (belonging to lodges quite unconnected with the Masters of whom Theosophists know most) who are in many cases most earnest and self-sacrificing seekers after truth. It is noteworthy, however, that all such lodges are at least aware of the existence of the great Himalayan Brotherhood, and acknowledge it as containing among its members the highest Adepts now known on earth.

The Psychically-developed Person
2. The Psychically-developed Person who is not under the guidance of a Master. Such a person may or may not be spiritually developed, for the two forms of advancement do not necessarily go together. When a man is born with psychic powers it is simply the result of efforts made during a previous incarnation — efforts which may have been of the noblest and most unselfish character, or on the other hand may have been ignorant and ill-directed or even entirely unworthy.

Such a man is usually perfectly conscious when out of the body, but for want of proper training is liable to be greatly deceived as to what he sees. He is often able to range through the different subdivisions of the astral plane almost as fully as persons belonging to the last class; but sometimes he is especially attracted to some one division and rarely travels beyond its influences. His recollection of what he has seen may vary according to the degree of his development through all the stages from perfect clearness to utter distortion or blank oblivion. He always appears in his astral body, since he does not know how to function in the mental vehicle.

The Ordinary Person
3. The Ordinary Person — that is, the person without any psychic development — who floats about in his astral body during sleep in a more or less unconscious condition. In deep slumber the higher principles in their astral vehicle almost invariably withdraw from the body, and hover in its immediate neighbourhood, though in quite undeveloped persons they are practically almost as much asleep as the body is.

In some cases, however, this astral vehicle is less lethargic, and floats dreamily about on the various astral currents, occasionally recognizing other people in a similar condition, and meeting with experiences of all sorts, pleasant and unpleasant, the memory of which, hopelessly confused and often travestied into a grotesque caricature of what really happened, will cause the man to think next morning what a remarkable dream he has had.

All cultured people, belonging to the higher races of the world, have at the present time their astral senses very fairly developed, so that, if they were sufficiently aroused to examine the realities which surround them during sleep, they would be able to observe them and learn much from them. But, in the vast majority of cases, they are not so aroused, and they spend most of their nights in a kind of brown study, pondering deeply over whatever thought may have been uppermost in their minds when they fell asleep. They have the astral faculties, but they scarcely use them; they are certainly awake on the astral plane, and yet they are not in the least awake to the plane, and are consequently conscious of their surroundings only very vaguely, if at all.

When such a man becomes a pupil of one of the Masters of Wisdom, he is usually at once shaken out of this somnolent condition, fully awakened to the realities around him on that plane, and set to learn from them and to work among them, so that his hours of sleep are no longer a blank, but are filled with active and useful occupation, without in the least interfering with the healthy, repose of the tired physical body. (See Invisible Helpers. Chap. V.)

These extruded astral bodies are almost shapeless and indefinite in outline in the case of the more backward races and individuals, but as the man develops in intellect and spirituality his floating astral becomes better defined, and more closely resembles his physical encasement. It is often asked how – since the undeveloped astral is so vague in outline, and since the great majority of mankind come under the head of the undeveloped – how it is ever possible to recognise the ordinary man at all when he is in his astral body. In trying to answer that question we must endeavour to realize that, to the clairvoyant eye, the physical body of man appears surrounded by what we call the aura – a luminous coloured mist, roughly ovoid in shape, and extending to a distance of some eighteen inches from the body in all directions. All students are aware that this aura is exceedingly complex, and contains matter of all the different planes on which man is at present provided with vehicles; but for the moment let us think of it as it would appear to one who possessed no higher power of vision than the astral.

For such a spectator the aura would contain only astral matter, and would therefore be a simpler object of study. He would see, however, that this astral matter not only surrounded the physical body, but interpenetrated it, and that within the periphery of that body it was much more densely aggregated than in that part of the aura which lay outside it. This seems to be due to the attraction of the large amount of dense astral matter which is gathered together there as the counterpart of the cells of the physical body; but however that may he, the fact is undoubted that the matter of the astral body which lies within the limits of the physical is many times denser than that outside it.

When during sleep the astral body is withdrawn from the physical this arrangement still persists, and any one looking at such an astral body with clairvoyant vision would still see, just as before, a form resembling the physical body surrounded by an aura. That form would is now composed only of astral matter, but still the difference in density between it and its surrounding mist would be quite sufficient to make it clearly distinguishable, even though it is itself only a form of denser mist. Now as to the difference in appearance between the evolved and the unevolved man. Even in the case of the latter the features and shape of the inner forms are recognizable always, though blurred and indistinct, but the surrounding egg scarcely deserve the name, for it is in fact a mere shapeless wreath of mist, having neither regularity nor permanence of outline. In the more developed man the change would be very marked, both in the aura and the form within it. This latter would be far more distinct and definite — a closer reproduction of the man's physical appearance; while instead of the floating mist-wreath we see a sharply defined ovoid shape, preserving this form unaffected amidst all the varied currents which are always swirling around it on the astral plane.

Since the psychical faculties of mankind are in course of evolution, and individuals are at all stages of their development, this class naturally melts by imperceptible gradations into the former.

The Black Magician
4. The Black Magician or his pupil. This class corresponds somewhat to the first, except that the development has been for evil instead of good, and the powers acquired are used for purely selfish purposes instead of for the benefit of humanity. Among its lower ranks come members of the negro race who practise the ghastly rites of the Obeah or Voodoo schools, and the medicine-men of many a savage tribe; while higher in intellect, and therefore the more blameworthy, stand the Tibetan black magicians, who are often, though incorrectly, called by Europeans Dugpas — a title properly belonging, as is quite correctly explained by Surgeon-Major Waddell in his book on The Buddhism of Tibet, only to the Bhotanese subdivision of the great Kargyu sect, which is part of what may be called the semi-reformed school of Tibetan Buddhism.

The Dugpas no doubt deal in Tantrik magic to a considerable extent, but the real red-hatted entirely unreformed sect is that of the Nin-ma-pa, though far beyond them still lower depth be the Bonpa — the votaries of the aboriginal religion, who have never accepted any form of Buddhism at all. It must not, however, be supposed that all Tibetan sects except the Gelugpa are necessarily and altogether evil; a truer view would be that as the rules of other sects permit considerably greater laxity of life and practice, the proportion of self-seekers among them is likely to be much larger than among the stricter reformers.

Dead
First of all, this very word "dead" is an absurd misnomer, as most of the entities classified under this heading are as fully alive as we are ourselves — often distinctly more so; so the term must be understood simply as meaning those who are for the time unattached to a physical body. They may be subdivided into ten principal classes, as follows:

The Nirmanakaya
1. The Nirmanakaya (one who, having earned the right to the perpetual enjoyment of Nirvana, renounces it in order to devote himself to work for the good of mankind). This class is just mentioned in order to make the catalogue complete, but it is rarely indeed that so exalted a being manifests himself upon so low a plane as this. When for any reason connected with his sublime work he found it desirable to do so, he would probably create a temporary astral body for the purpose from the atomic matter of the plane, just as the Adept in the mind-body would do, simply because his more refined vesture would be invisible to astral sight. In order to be able to function without a moment's hesitation on any plane, he retains always within himself some atoms belonging to each, round which as a nucleus he can instantly aggregate other matter, and so provide himself with whatever vehicle he desires. Further information about the position and work of the Nirmanakaya may be found in Madame Blavatsky's Voice of the Silence, and in my own little book Invisible Helpers.

The Pupil awaiting reincarnation
2. The Pupil awaiting reincarnation. It has frequently been stated in Theosophical literature that when the pupil reaches a certain stage he is able with the assistance of his Master to escape from the action of what is in ordinary cases the law of Nature which carries a human being into the heaven-world at the end of his astral life. In that heaven-world he would, in the ordinary course of events, receive the due result of the full working out of all the spiritual forces which his highest aspirations have set in motion while on earth. As the pupil must by the hypothesis be a man of pure life and high thought, it is probable that in his case these spiritual forces will be of abnormal strength, and therefore if he enters upon this heaven-life, it is likely to be extremely long; but if instead of taking it he chooses the Path of Renunciation (thus even at his low level and in his humble way beginning to follow in the footsteps of the Great Master of Renunciation, the Lord GAUTAMA Buddha Himself), he is able to expend that reserve of force in quite another direction – to use it for the benefit of mankind, and so, infinitesimal though his offering may be, to take his tiny part in the great work of the Nirmanakayas. By taking this course he no doubt sacrifices centuries of intense bliss, but on the other hand he gains the enormous advantage of being able to continue his life of work and progress without a break.

When a pupil who has decided to do this dies, he simply steps out of his body, as he has often done before, and waits upon the astral plane until a suitable reincarnation can be arranged for him by his Master. This being a marked departure from the usual course of procedure, the permission of a very high authority has to be obtained before the attempt can be made; yet, even when this is granted, so strong is the force of natural law, that it is said the pupil must be careful to confine himself strictly to the astral level while the matter is being arranged, lest if he once, even for a moment, touched the mental plane, he might be swept as by an irresistible current into the line of normal evolution again. In some cases, though these are rare, he is enabled to avoid the trouble of a new birth by being placed directly in an adult body whose previous tenant has no further use for it, but naturally it is not often that a suitable body is available. Far more frequently he has to wait on the astral plane, as mentioned before, until the opportunity of a fitting birth presents itself. Meanwhile, however, he is losing no time, for he is as fully himself as ever he was, and is able to go on with the work given him by his Master even more quickly and efficiently than when in the physical body, since he is no longer hampered by the possibility of fatigue. His consciousness is quite complete, and he roams at will through all the divisions of the plane with equal facility.

The pupil awaiting reincarnation is by no means one of the common objects of the astral plane, but still he may be met with occasionally, and therefore he forms one of our classes. No doubt as the evolution of humanity proceeds, and an ever-increasing proportion enters upon the Path of Holiness, this class will become more numerous.

The Ordinary Person after death
3. The Ordinary Person after death. Needless to say this class is millions of times larger than those of which we have spoken, and the character and condition of its members vary within extremely wide limits. Within similarly wide limits may vary also the length of their lives upon the astral plane, for while there are those who pass only a few days or hours there, others remain upon this level for many years and even centuries.

A man who has led a good and pure life, whose strongest feelings and aspirations have been unselfish and spiritual, will have no attraction to this plane, and will, if entirely left alone, find little to keep him upon it, or to awaken him into activity even during the comparatively short period of his stay. For it must be understood that after death the true man is withdrawing into himself, and just as at the first step of that process he casts off the physical body, and almost directly afterwards the etheric double, so it is intended that he should as soon as possible cast off also the astral or desire body, and pass into the heaven-world, where alone his spiritual aspirations can bear their perfect fruit.

The noble and pure-minded man will be able to do this, for he has subdued all earthly passions during life; the force of his will has been directed into higher channels, and there is therefore but little energy of lower desire to be worked out on the astral plane. His stay there will consequently be short, and most probably he will have little more than a dreamy half-consciousness of existence until he sinks into the sleep during which his higher principles finally free themselves from the astral envelope and enter upon the blissful life of the heaven-world.

For the person who has not as yet entered upon the path of occult development, what has been described is the ideal state of affairs, but naturally it not attained by all, or even by the majority. The average man has by no means freed himself from all lower desires before death, and it takes a long period of more or less fully conscious life on the various subdivisions of the astral plane to allow the forces which he has generated to work themselves out, and thus release the ego.

Every one after death has to pass through all the subdivisions of the astral plane on his way to the heaven¬world, though it must not be inferred that he will be conscious upon all of them. Precisely as it is necessary that the physical body should contain within its constitution physical matter in all its conditions, solid, liquid, gaseous, and etheric, so it is indispensable that the astral vehicle should contain particles belonging to all the corresponding subdivisions of astral matter, though the proportions may vary greatly in different cases.

It must be remembered that along with the matter of his astral body a man picks up the corresponding elemental essence, and that during his life this essence is segregated from the ocean of similar matter around, and practically becomes for that time what may be described as a kind of artificial elemental. This has temporarily a definite separate existence of its own, and follows the course of its own evolution downwards into matter without any reference to (or indeed any knowledge of) the convenience or interest of the ego to whom it happens to be attached – thus causing that perpetual struggle between the will of the flesh and the will of the spirit to which religious writers so often refer. Yet though it is "a law of the members warring against the law of the mind", though if the man obeys it instead of controlling it his evolution will be seriously hindered, it must not be thought of as in any way evil in itself, for it is still a Law — still an outpouring of the Divine Power going on its orderly course, though that course in this instance happens to be downwards into matter instead of upwards and away from it, as ours is.

When the man passes away at death from the physical plane the disintegrating forces of Nature begin to operate upon his astral body, and this elemental thus finds his existence as a separate entity endangered. He sets to work therefore to defend himself, and to hold the astral body together as long as possible; and his method of doing this is to rearrange the matter of which it is composed in a sort of stratified series of shells, leaving that of the lowest (and therefore coarsest and grossest) sub-plane on the outside, since that will offer the greatest resistance to disintegration.

A man has to stay upon this lowest subdivision until he has disentangled so much as is possible of his true self from the matter of that sub-plane; and when that is done his consciousness is focussed in the next of these concentric shells (that formed of the matter of the sixth subdivision), or to put the same idea in other words, he passes on to the next sub-plane. We might say that when the astral body has exhausted its attractions to one level, the greater part of its grosser particles fall away, and it finds itself in affinity with a somewhat higher state of existence. Its specific gravity, as it were, is constantly decreasing, and so it steadily rises from the denser to the lighter strata, pausing only when it is exactly balanced for a time. This is evidently the explanation of a remark frequently made by the departed who appear at séances to the effect that they are about to rise to a higher sphere, from which it will be impossible, or not so easy, to communicate through a medium; and it is as a matter of fact true that a person upon the highest subdivision of this plane would find it almost impossible to deal with any ordinary medium.

Thus we see that the length of a man's detention upon any level of the astral plane will be precisely in proportion to the amount of its matter which is found in his astral body, and that in turn depends upon the life he has lived, the desires he has indulged, and the class of matter which by so doing he has attracted towards him and built into himself. It is, therefore, possible for a man, by pure living and high thinking, to minimize the quantity of matter belonging to the lower astral levels which he attaches to himself, and to raise it in each case to what may be called its critical point, so that the first touch of disintegrating force should shatter its cohesion and resolve it into its original condition, leaving him free at once to pass on to the next sub-plane.

In the case of a thoroughly spiritually-minded person this condition has been attained with reference to all the subdivisions of astral matter, and the result is a practically instantaneous passage through that plane, so that he recovers consciousness for the first time in the heaven-world. As was explained before, we never think of the sub-planes as being divided from one another in space, but rather as interpenetrating one another; so that when we say that a person passes from one subdivision to another, we do not necessarily mean that he moves in space at all, but that the focus of his consciousness shifts from the outer shell to that next within it.

The only persons who normally awake to consciousness on the lowest level of the astral plane are those whose desires are gross and brutal – drunkards, sensualists, and such like. There they remain for a period proportioned to the strength of their desires, often suffering terribly from the fact that while these earthly lusts are still as strong as ever, they now find it impossible to gratify them, except occasionally in a vicarious manner when they are able to seize upon some like-minded person, and obsess him.

The ordinarily decent man has little to detain him on that seventh sub-plane; but if his chief desires and thoughts had centred in more worldly affairs, he is likely to find himself in the sixth subdivision, still hovering about the places and persons with which he was most closely connected while on earth. The fifth and the fourth sub-planes are of similar character, except that as we rise through them mere earthly associations appear to become of less and less importance, and the departed tends more and more to mould his surroundings into agreements with the more persistent of his thoughts. By the time we reach the third subdivision we find that this characteristic has entirely superseded the vision of the realities of the plane; for here the people are living in imaginary cities of their own — not each evolved entirely by his own thought, as in the heaven-world, but inheriting and adding to the structures erected by the thoughts of their predecessors. Here it is that the churches and schools and "dwellings in the summerland," so often described at spiritualistic séances, are to be found; though they often seem much less real and much less magnificent to an unprejudiced living observer than they are to their delighted creators.

The second sub-plane seems especially the habitat of the selfish or unspiritual religionist; here he wears his golden crown and worships his own grossly material representation of the particular deity of his country and time. The highest subdivision appears to be specially appropriate to those who during life have devoted themselves to materialistic but intellectual pursuits, following them not for the sake of benefiting their fellowmen thereby, as from motives of selfish ambition or for the sake of intellectual exercise. Such persons will often remain upon this level for many long years — happy enough indeed in working out their intellectual problems, but doing no good to anyone, and making but little progress on their way towards the heaven-world.

It must be clearly understood, as before explained, that the idea of space is not in any way to be associated with these sub-planes. A departed entity functioning upon any one of them might drift with equal ease from England to Australia, or wherever a passing thought might take him; but he would not be able to transfer his consciousness from that sub-plane to the next above it until the process of detachment described had been completed.

To this rule there is no kind of exception, so far as we are yet aware, although naturally a man's actions when he finds himself conscious upon any sub-plane may within certain limits either shorten or prolong his connection with it.

But the amount of consciousness that a person has upon a given sub-plane does not invariably follow precisely the same law. Let us consider an extreme example of possible variation in order that we may grasp its method. Suppose a man who has brought over from his past incarnation tendencies requiring for their manifestation a very large amount of the matter of the seventh or lowest sub-plane, but has in his present life been fortunate enough to learn in his very earliest years the possibility and necessity of controlling these tendencies. It is scarcely probable that such a man's efforts at control should be entirely and uniformly successful; but if they were, the substitution of finer for grosser particles in his astral body would progress steadily, though slowly.

This process is at best gradual, and it might well happen that the man died before it was half completed. In that case there would undoubtedly be enough matter of the lowest sub-plane left in his astral body to ensure him no inconsiderable residence there; but it would be matter through which in this incarnation his consciousness had never been in the habit of functioning, and as it could not suddenly acquire this habit the result would be that the man would rest upon that sub-plane until his share of its matter was disintegrated but would be all the while in a condition of unconsciousness — that is to say, he would practically sleep through the period of his sojourn there, and so would be entirely unaffected by its many disagreeables.

The student of occultism, however, may make of his astral life something quite different from all this. The ordinary man, on awaking from the moment of unconsciousness which always seems to occur at death, finds himself in certain conditions which the desire-elemental has created for him by his rearrangement of the matter of the astral body. He can receive vibrations from without only through that type of matter which the elemental has left on the outside, and consequently his vision is limited to that particular sub-plane. The man accepts this limitation as part of the conditions of his new life; indeed he is quite unconscious that there is any limitation, and he supposes that what he sees is all that there is to see, since he knows nothing of the elemental or of its action.

The Theosophical student, however, understands all this, and therefore he knows that the limitation is not necessary. Knowing this he will at once set himself to resist the action of the desire-elemental, and will insist upon retaining his astral body in the same condition as during his earth-life — that is to say, with all its particles intermingled and in free motion. The consequence of this will be that he will be able to receive the vibrations from the matter of every astral sub-plane simultaneously, and so the whole astral world will be fully open to his sight. He will be able to move about in it just as freely as he could during physical sleep, and he can therefore find and communicate with any person in the astral plane, no matter to what subdivision that person may for the moment be confined.

The effort to resist the rearrangement, and restore the astral body to its former condition, is precisely similar to that which has to be made in resisting a strong desire during physical life. The elemental is afraid in his curious semi-conscious way, and he endeavours to transfer his fear to the man; so that the latter constantly finds a strong instinct creeping over him of some indescribable danger which can only be avoided by permitting the rearrangement. If, however, he steadily resists this unreasoning sense of dread by the calm assertion of his own knowledge that there is no cause for fear, he wears out in time the resistance of the elemental, just as he has resisted the prompting of desire many a time during his earthly life. Thus he becomes a living power during his astral life, able to carry on the work of helping others as he used to do during his hours of sleep.

It may be said in passing that communication is limited on the astral plane by the knowledge of the entity, just as it is here. While a pupil able to use his mind-body can communicate his thoughts to the human entities there present more readily and rapidly than on earth, by means of mental impressions, the inhabitants of the plane are not usually able to exercise this power, but appear to be restricted by limitations similar to those that prevail on earth, though perhaps less rigid. The result of this is that they are found associating there as here, in groups drawn together by common sympathies, belief, and language.

The poetic idea of death as a universal leveller is a mere absurdity born of ignorance, for, as a matter of fact, in the vast majority of cases the loss of the physical body makes no difference whatever in the character or intellect of the person, and there are therefore as many different varieties of intelligence among those whom we usually call the dead as among the living.

The popular religious teaching of the West as to man's post-mortem adventures has long been so wildly inaccurate that even intelligent people are often terribly puzzled when they recover consciousness in the astral world after death. The condition in which the new arrival finds himself differs so radically from what he has been led to expect that it is no uncommon case for him to refuse at first to believe that he has passed through the portals of death at all; indeed, of so little practical value is our much-vaunted belief in the immortality of the soul that most people consider the very fact that they are still conscious an absolute proof that they have not died.

The horrible doctrine of eternal punishment, too, is responsible for a vast amount of most pitiable and entirely groundless terror among those newly arrived in this higher life. In many cases they spend long periods of acute mental suffering before they can free themselves from the fatal influence of that hideous blasphemy, and realize that the world is governed not according to the caprice of some demon who gloats over human anguish, but according to a benevolent and wonderfully patient law of evolution. Many members of the class we are considering do not really attain an intelligent appreciation of this fact of evolution at all, but drift through their astral interlude in the same aimless manner in which they have spent the physical portion of their lives. Thus after death, exactly as before it, there are the few who comprehend something of their position and know how to make the best of it, and the many who have not yet acquired that knowledge; and then, just as now, the ignorant are rarely ready to profit by the advice or example of the wise.

But of whatever grade the entity's intellect may be, it is always a fluctuating and on the whole a gradually diminishing quantity, for the lower mind of the man is being drawn in opposite directions by the higher spiritual nature which acts on it from above its level and the strong desire-forces which operate from below; and therefore it oscillates between the two attractions, with an ever¬increasing tendency towards the former as the forces of lower desire wear themselves out.

Here comes in one of the objections to the spiritualistic séance. An exceedingly ignorant or degraded man may no doubt learn much by coming into contact after his death with a circle of earnest sitters under the control of some reliable person, and so may be really helped and raised. But in the ordinary man the consciousness is steadily rising from the lower part of the nature towards the higher; and obviously it cannot be helpful to his evolution that this lower part should be reawakened from the natural and desirable unconsciousness into which it is passing, and dragged back into touch with earth in order to communicate through a medium. The peculiar danger of this will be seen when it is recollected that since the real man is all the while steadily withdrawing into himself, he is as time goes on less and less able to influence or guide this lower portion, which nevertheless, until the separation is complete, has the power to generate karma, and under the circumstances is evidently far more likely to add evil than good to its record.

Apart altogether from any question of development through a medium, there is another and much more frequently exercised influence which may seriously retard a disembodied entity on his way to the heaven-world, and that is the intense and uncontrolled grief of his surviving friends or relatives. It is one among many melancholy results of the terribly inaccurate and even irreligious view that we in the West have for centuries been taking of death, that we not only cause ourselves an immense amount of wholly unnecessary pain over this temporary parting from our loved ones, but we often also do serious injury to those for whom we bear so deep an affection by means of this very regret which we feel so acutely.

When our departed brother is sinking peacefully and naturally into the unconsciousness which precedes his awakening amid the glories of the heaven-world, he is too frequently aroused from his dreamy happiness into vivid remembrance of the earth-life which he has lately left, solely by the action of the passionate sorrows and desires of his friends on earth, which awaken corresponding vibrations in his own desire-body, and so cause him acute discomfort.

It would be well if those whose comrades have passed on before them would learn from these undoubted facts the duty of restraining for the sake of those friends a grief which, however natural it may be, is yet in its essence selfish. Not that occult teaching counsels forgetfulness of the dead – far from it; but it does suggest that a man's affectionate remembrance of his departed friend is a force which, if properly directed into the channel of earnest good wishes for his progress towards the heaven-world and his quiet passage through the intermediate state, might be of real value to him, whereas when wasted in mourning for him and longing to have him back again it is not only useless but harmful. It is with a true instinct that the Hindu religion prescribes its Shraddha ceremonies and the Catholic Church its prayers for the dead. It sometimes happens, however, that the desire for communication is from the other side, and that the dead man has something which he specially desires to say to those whom he has left behind. Occasionally this message is an important one, such as, for example, an indication of the place where a missing will is concealed; but more often it seems to us quite trivial. Still, whatever it may be, if it is firmly impressed upon the mind of the dead person, it is undoubtedly desirable that he should be enabled to deliver it, as otherwise the anxiety to do so would perpetually draw his consciousness back into the earth-life, and prevent him from passing to higher spheres. In such a case a psychic who can understand him, or a medium through whom he can write or speak, is of real service to him. Why cannot he write or speak without a medium? It may be asked. The reason is that one state of matter can ordinarily act only upon the state next below it, and, as he has now no denser matter in his organism than that of which the astral body is composed, he finds it impossible to set up vibrations in the physical substance of the air or to move the physical pencil without borrowing living matter of the intermediate order contained in the etheric double, by means of which an impulse can readily be transferred from the one plane to the other. He is unable to borrow this material from an ordinary person, because such a man's principles would be too closely linked together to be separated by any means likely to be at his command, but the very essence of mediumship is the ready separability of the principles, so from a medium he can draw without difficulty the matter he needs for his manifestation, whatever it may be.

When he cannot find a medium or does not understand how to use one he sometimes makes clumsy and blundering endeavours to communicate on his own account, and by the strength of his will he sets elemental forces blindly working, perhaps producing such apparently aimless manifestations as stone-throwing, bell-ringing, etc. It consequently frequently happens that a psychic or medium going to a house where such manifestations are taking place may be able to discover what the entity who produces them is attempting to say or do, and may thus put an end to the disturbance. This would not, however, invariably be the case, as these elemental forces are occasionally set in motion by entirely different causes.

The Shade
4. The Shade. When the separation of the principles is complete, the astral life of the person is over, and, as before stated, he passes into the mental condition. But just as when he dies to this plane he leaves his physical body behind him, so when he dies to the astral plane he leaves a disintegrating astral body behind him. If he has purged himself from all earthly desires during life, and directed all his energies into the channels of unselfish spiritual aspiration, the higher ego will be able to draw back into itself the whole of the lower mind which he put forth into incarnation; in that case the body left behind on the astral plane will be a mere corpse like the abandoned physical body, and it will then come not into this class but into the next.

Even in the case of a man of somewhat less perfect life almost the same result may be attained if the forces of lower desire are allowed to work themselves out undisturbed in the astral plane. But the majority of mankind make but trifling and perfunctory efforts while on earth to rid themselves of the less elevated impulses of their nature, and consequently doom themselves not only to a greatly prolonged sojourn in the intermediate world, but also to what cannot be described otherwise than as a loss of a portion of the lower mind.

This is, no doubt, a material method of expressing the reflection of the higher manas in the lower, but a very fairly accurate idea of what actually takes place will be obtained by adopting the hypothesis that the manasic principle sends down a portion of itself into the lower world of physical life at each incarnation, and expects to be able to withdraw it again at the end of the life, enriched by all its varied experiences. The ordinary man, however, usually allows himself to be so pitiably enslaved by all sorts of base desires that a certain portion of this lower mind becomes closely interwoven with the desire-body, and when the separation takes place at the close of his astral life the mental principle has, as it were, to be torn apart, the degraded portion remaining within the disintegrating astral body.

This body then consists of the particles of astral matter from which the lower mind has not been able to disengage itself, which therefore retain it captive; for when the man passes into the heaven-world these clinging fragments adhere to a portion of his mind, and as it were wrench it away. The proportion of the matter of each level present in the decaying astral vehicle will therefore depend on the extent to which the mind has become inextricably entangled with the lower passions. It will be obvious that as the mind in passing from level to level is unable to free itself completely from the matter of each, the astral remnant will show the presence of each grosser kind which has succeeded in retaining its connection with it. Thus comes into existence the class of entity which has been called "The Shade" — an entity, be it observed, which is not in any sense the real individual at all, for he has passed away into the heaven-world; but nevertheless, it not only bears his exact personal appearance, but possesses his memory and all his little idiosyncrasies, and may therefore readily be mistaken for him, as indeed it frequently is at séances. It is not conscious of any act of impersonation, for as far as its intellect goes it must necessarily suppose itself to be the individual, but one can imagine the horror and disgust of the friends of the departed, if they could only realize that they had been deceived into accepting as their comrade a mere soulless bundle of all his lowest qualities. The length of life of a shade varies according to the amount of the lower mind which animates it, but as this is all the while in process of fading out, its intellect is a steadily diminishing quantity, though it may possess a great deal of a certain sort of animal cunning; and even quite towards the end of its career it is still able to communicate by borrowing temporary intelligence from the medium. From its nature it is exceedingly liable to be swayed by all kinds of evil influences and, having separated from its ego, it has nothing in its constitution capable of responding to anything higher. It therefore lends itself readily to various minor purposes of some of the baser sort of black magicians. So much of mental matter as it possesses gradually disintegrates and returns to its own plane, though not to any individual mind, and thus the shade fades by almost imperceptible gradations into a member of our next class.

The Shell
5. The Shell. This is absolutely the mere astral corpse in the later stages of its disintegration, every particle of the mind having left it. It is entirely without any kind of consciousness or intelligence and drifts passively about upon the astral currents just as a cloud might be swept in any direction by a passing breeze; but even yet it may be galvanized for a few moments into a ghastly burlesque of life if it happens to come within reach of a medium's aura. Under such circumstances it still exactly resembles its departed personality in appearance, and may even reproduce to some extent his familiar expressions or handwriting, but it does so merely by the automatic action of the cells of which it is composed, which tend under stimulation to repeat the form of action to which they are most accustomed. Whatever amount of intelligence may lie behind any such manifestation has no connection with the original man, but is lent by the medium or his "guides" for the occasion. It is, however, more frequently temporarily vitalized in quite another manner, which will be described under the next head. It has also the quality of being still blindly responsive to such vibrations — usually of the lowest order — as were frequently set up in it during its last stage of existence as a shade, and consequently persons in whom evil desires or passions are predominant will be likely, if they attend physical séances, to find these intensified and as it were thrown back upon them by the unconscious shells.

There is also another variety of corpse which it is necessary to mention under this head, though it belongs to a much earlier stage of man's post-mortem history. It has been stated above that after the death of the physical body the astral vehicle is comparatively quickly rearranged, and the etheric double cast off – this latter body being destined to slow disintegration, precisely as is the astral shell at a later stage of the proceedings.

This etheric shell, however, does not drift aimlessly about, as does the variety with which we have hitherto been dealing; on the contrary, it remains within a few yards of the decaying physical body, and since it is readily visible to any one even slightly sensitive, it accounts for many of the commonly current stories of church-yard ghosts. A psychically developed person passing one of our great cemeteries may see many of these bluish-white, misty forms hovering over the graves where are laid the physical vestures which they have recently left; and as they, like their lower counterparts, are in stages of disintegration, the sight is by no means pleasant. This also, like the other kind of shell, is entirely devoid of consciousness and intelligence; and though it may under certain circumstances be galvanized into a horrible form of temporary life, this is possible only by means of some of the most loathsome rites of one of the worst forms of black magic, about which the less said the better. It will thus be seen that in the successive stages of his progress from earth-life to the heaven-world, man casts off and leaves to slow disintegration no less than three corpses – the dense physical body, the etheric double, and the astral vehicle – all of which are by degrees resolved into their constituent elements and their matter utilized anew on their respective planes by the wonderful chemistry of Nature.

The Vitalized Shell
6. The Vitalized Shell. This entity ought not, strictly speaking, to be classified under the head "human" at all, since it is only its outer vesture, the passive, senseless shell, that was once an appanage of humanity; such life, intelligence, desire, and will as it may possess are those of the artificial-elemental animating it, and that, though in truth a creation of man's evil thought is not itself human. It will therefore perhaps be better to deal with it more fully under its appropriate class among the artificial entities, as its nature and genesis will be more readily comprehensible by the time that part of our subject is reached.

Let it suffice here to mention that it is always a malevolent being — a true tempting demon, whose evil influence is limited only by the extent of its power. Like the shade, it is frequently used to further the horrible purposes of the Voodoo and Obeah forms of magic. Some writers have spoken of it under the name "elementary," but as that title has at one time or another been used for almost every variety of post-mortem entity, it has become so vague and meaningless that it is perhaps better to avoid it.

The Suicide
7. The Suicide and the victim of sudden death. It will be readily understood that a man who is torn from physical life hurriedly while in full health and strength, whether by accident or suicide, finds himself upon the astral plane under conditions differing considerably from those which surround one who dies either from old age or from disease. In the latter case the hold of earthly desires upon the entity is sure to be more or less weakened, and probably the very grossest particles are already eliminated, so that the man is likely to find himself on the sixth or fifth subdivision of the astral world, or perhaps even higher; the principles have been gradually prepared for separation, and the shock is therefore not so great.

In the case of the accidental death or suicide none of these preparations have taken place, and the withdrawal of the principles from their physical encasement has been aptly compared to the tearing of the stone out of an unripe fruit; much of the grossest kind of astral matter may still cling round the personality, which will consequently be held in the seventh or lowest subdivision of the plane. This has already been described as anything but a pleasant abiding-place, yet it is by no means the same for all those who are compelled for a time to inhabit it. Those victims of sudden death whose earth-lives have been pure and noble have no affinity for this plane, and so the time of their sojourn upon it is passed, to quote from an early letter on this subject, either in "happy ignorance and full oblivion, or in a state of quiet slumber, a sleep full of rosy dreams."

On the other hand, if men's earth-lives have been low and brutal, selfish and sensual, they will be conscious to the fullest extent in this undesirable region; and it is possible for them to develop into terribly evil entities. Inflamed with all kinds of horrible appetites which they call no longer satisfy directly now they are without a physical body, they gratify their loathsome passions vicariously through a medium or any sensitive person whom they can obsess; and they take a devilish delight in using all the arts of delusion which the astral plane puts in their power in order to lead others into the same excesses which have proved so fatal to themselves.

Quoting again from the same letter: "These are the Pisachas, the incubi and succubæ of mediæval writers – demons of thirst and gluttony, of lust and avarice, of intensified craft, wickedness, and cruelty, provoking their victims to horrible crimes, and reveling in their commission." From this class and the last are drawn the tempters — the devils of ecclesiastical literature; but their power falls utterly before purity of mind and purpose; they can do nothing with a man unless he has first encouraged in himself the vices into which they seek to draw him.

One whose psychic sight has been opened will often see crowds of these unfortunate creatures hanging round butchers' shops, public-houses, or other even more disreputable places — wherever the gross influences in which they delight are to be found, and where they encounter men and women still in the flesh who are like¬minded with themselves. For such an entity as one of these to meet with a medium with whom he is in affinity is indeed a terrible misfortune; not only does it enable him to prolong enormously his dreadful astral life, but it renews for perhaps an indefinite period his power to generate evil karma, and so prepare for himself a future incarnation of the most degraded character, besides running the risk of losing a large portion of such mind-power as he may happen to possess. If he is fortunate enough not to meet with a sensitive through whom his passions can be vicariously gratified, the unfulfilled desires will gradually burn themselves out, and the suffering caused in the process will probably go far towards working off the evil karma of the past life.

The position of the suicide is further complicated by the fact that his rash act has diminished the power of the ego to withdraw its lower portion into itself, and therefore has exposed him to various additional dangers; but it must be remembered that the guilt of suicide differs considerably according to its circumstances, from the morally blameless act of Seneca or Socrates through all degrees down to the heinous crime of the wretch who takes his own life in order to escape from the entanglements into which his villainy has brought him; and the position after death varies accordingly.

It should be noted that this class, as well as the shades and the vitalized shells are all what may be called minor vampires; that is to say, whenever they have the opportunity they prolong their existence by draining away the vitality from human beings whom they find themselves able to influence. This is why both medium and sitters are often so weak and exhausted after a physical séance. A student of occultism is taught how to guard himself from their attempts, but without that knowledge it is difficult for one who puts himself in their way to avoid being more or less laid under contribution by them.

The Vampire and Werewolf
8. The Vampire and Werewolf. There remain two even more vile but happily rare possibilities to be mentioned before this part of our subject is completed, and though they differ widely in many ways we may yet perhaps group them together, since they have in common the qualities of unearthly horror and of extreme rarity — the latter arising from the fact that they are really legacies from earlier races — hideous anachronisms, appalling relics of a time when man and his surroundings were in many ways not what they are now.

We of the fifth root race ought to have evolved beyond the possibility of meeting such a ghastly fate as is indicated by either of the two headings of this sub-section, and we have so nearly done it that these creatures are commonly regarded as mere mediaeval fables; yet there are examples to be found occasionally even now, though chiefly in countries where there is a considerable strain of fourth-race blood, such as Russia or Hungary. The popular legends about them are probably often considerably exaggerated, but there is nevertheless a terribly serious substratum of truth beneath the eerie stories which pass from mouth to mouth among the peasantry of Eastern Europe. The general characteristics of such tales are too well known to need more than a passing reference; a fairly typical specimen of the vampire story, though it does not profess to be more than the merest fiction, is Sheridan le Fanu's Carmilla, while a very remarkable account of an unusual form of this creature is to be found in Isis Unveiled, vol. I, p. 454.

Readers of Theosophical literature will be aware that it is just possible for a man to live a life so absolutely degraded and selfish, so utterly wicked and brutal, that the whole of his lower mind may become entirely enmeshed in his desires, and finally separate from its spiritual source in the higher self. Some students even seem to have supposed that such an occurrence is quite common, and that we may meet scores of such "soulless men", as they have been called, in the street every day of our lives; but this, happily, is untrue. To attain the appalling pre-eminence in evil which thus involves the entire loss of a personality and the weakening of the developing individuality behind, a man must stifle every gleam of unselfishness or spirituality, and must have absolutely no redeeming point whatever; and when we remember how often, even in the worst of villains, there is to be found something not wholly bad, we shall realize that the abandoned personalities must always be a very small minority. Still, comparatively few though they be, they do exist, and it is from their ranks that the still rarer vampire is drawn. The lost entity would very soon after death find himself unable to stay in the astral world, and would be irresistibly drawn in full consciousness into "his own place", the mysterious eighth sphere, there slowly to disintegrate after experiences best left undescribed. If, however, he perishes by suicide or sudden death, he may under certain circumstances, especially if he knows something of black magic, hold himself back from that appalling fate by a death in life scarcely less appalling — the ghastly existence of the vampire.

Since the eighth sphere cannot claim him until after the death of the body, he preserves it in a kind of cataleptic trance by the horrible expedient of the transfusion into it of blood drawn from other human beings by his semi¬materialized astral, and thus postpones his final destiny by the commission of wholesale murder. As popular "superstition" again rightly supposes, the easiest and most effectual remedy in such a case is to exhume and burn the body, thus depriving the creature of his point d' appui. When the grave is opened the body usually appears quite fresh and healthy, and the coffin is not infrequently filled with blood. In countries where cremation is the custom, vampirism of this sort is naturally impossible.

The Werewolf, though equally horrible, is the product of a somewhat different karma, and indeed ought perhaps to have found a place under the first instead of the second division of the human inhabitants of this plane, since it is always during a man's lifetime that he first manifests under this form. It invariably implies some knowledge of magical arts — sufficient at any rate to be able to project the astral body.

When a perfectly cruel and brutal man does this, there are certain circumstances under which the body may be seized upon by other astral entities and materialized, not into the human form, but into that of some wild animal — usually the wolf; and in that condition it will range the surrounding country killing other animals, and even human beings, thus satisfying not only its own craving for blood, but that of the fiends who drive it on.

In this case, as so often with ordinary materialization, any wound inflicted upon that animal form will be reproduced upon the human physical body by the extraordinary phenomenon of repercussion; though after the death of that physical body, the astral (which will probably continue to appear in the same form) will be less vulnerable. It will then, however, be also less dangerous, as unless it can find a suitable medium it will be unable to materialize fully. In such manifestations there is probably a great deal of the matter of the etheric double, and perhaps also a toll is levied upon the gaseous and liquid constituents of the physical body, as in the case of some materializations. In both cases the fluidic body appears able to pass to much greater distances from the physical than is ever otherwise possible, so far as is yet known, for a vehicle, which contains at least a certain amount of etheric matter.

It has been the fashion of this age to scoff at what are called the foolish superstitions of the ignorant peasantry; but as in the above cases, so in many others, the occult student finds on careful examination that obscure or forgotten truths of Nature lie behind what at first sight appears mere nonsense, and he learns to be cautious in rejecting as well as cautious in accepting. Intending explorers of the astral plane need have little fear of encountering the very unpleasant creatures described under this head, for, as before stated, they are even now extremely rare, and as time goes on their number will happily steadily diminish. In any case their manifestations are usually restricted to the immediate neighbourhood of their physical bodies, as might be supposed from their extremely material nature.

The Man in the Grey World
9. The Man in the Grey World. I have already explained that the vampire and the werewolf are anachronisms, that they belonged to the evolution of an earlier root-race. But though we have developed beyond that particular form of manifestation of it, the type of person who clings desperately to physical life because he has no certainty that there is any other still persists among us. Having been intensely material, having had no ideas, no conceptions of any sort beyond the physical during earth-life, he becomes crazy with fear when he finds himself altogether cut adrift from it.

Sometimes such men make frantic efforts to return into some sort of touch with physical life. Most do not succeed, and gradually give up the struggle; as soon as they do that, they slip off at once into the natural moment of unconsciousness and shortly awaken in the astral world. But those, whose will is strong enough to attain a partial and temporary success hold on tenaciously to at least some fragments of their etheric double, and sometimes even manage to draw particles from their physical bodies.

We may say that the actual definition of death is the full and final separation of the etheric double from the dense body — or, to put it in other words, the breaking up of the physical body by withdrawing its etheric part from its lower part. So long as a link is maintained we may have conditions of catalepsy, trance or anaesthesia; when the link is finally broken, death has taken place.

When a man withdraws from his dense body at death, then, he takes with him the etheric part of that vehicle. But that etheric matter is not in itself a complete vehicle — only part of one. Therefore while that etheric matter still clings round him, he is neither on one plane nor the other. He has lost the organs of his physical senses, and he cannot use those of the astral body because he is still enveloped in this cloud of etheric matter. He lives for awhile — fortunately only for awhile — in a dim grey world of restlessness and discomfort, in which he can see clearly neither physical nor astral happenings, but catches occasional glimpses of both as through a world of heavy fog, in which he wanders, lost and helpless.

There is no reason whatever why any human being should suffer such unpleasantness at all; but he fears that in letting go that shred of consciousness he may lose all consciousness for ever — may in fact be annihilated; so he grasps desperately at this which is left to him. In time, however, he must let go, for the etheric double begins to disintegrate, and then he slips quite happily into the fuller and wider life.

Such people may sometimes be found drifting miserably and even wailingly about the astral plane, and it is one of the hardest tasks of the helper to persuade them that they have nothing to do but to forget their fear, to relax their tenseness, and to let themselves sink gently into the peace and oblivion which they need so sorely. They seem to regard such a suggestion as a ship-wrecked man far away from land might receive an order to abandon his supporting spar, and trust himself to the stormy sea.

The Black Magician
10. The Black Magician or his pupil. This person corresponds at the other extremity of the scale to our second class of departed entities, the pupil awaiting reincarnation, but in this case, instead of obtaining permission to adopt an unusual method of progress, the man is defying the natural process of evolution by maintaining himself in astral life by magical arts — sometimes of the most horrible nature.

It would be easy to make various subdivisions of this class, according to their objects, their methods, and the possible duration of their existence on this plane, but as they are by no means fascinating objects of study, and all that in occult student wishes to know about them is how to avoid them, it will probably be more interesting to pass on to the examination of another part of our subject. It may, however, be just mentioned that every such human entity which prolongs its life thus on the astral plane beyond its natural limit invariably does so at the expense of others, and by the absorption of their life in some form or another.

title: The Astral Plane/Chapter III/I


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Collier, John (1708-1786)


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Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/366

iv. 27-

1. The Maruts I reverence; let them bless me; let them favor this steed (? vā́ja) in the race (? vā́jasāta); I have called on them for aid, like easily-controlled swift [horses]: let them free us from distress.

2. Who always open (vi-ac) an unexhausted fountain; who pour in sap into the herbs—I put forward the Maruts, sons of the spotted one: let them free us from distress.

3. Ye, O poets, that send the milk of the kine, the sap of the herbs, the speed of the coursers—let the helpful (? çagmá) Maruts be pleasant to us; let them free us from distress.

4. Waters from the ocean to the sky they carry up, they who pour [them] from the sky upon the earth—the Maruts who go about lording it with the waters: let them free us from distress.

5. They who gratify with sweet drink, who with ghee; or who combine (sam-sṛj) vigor (váyas) with fatness; the Maruts who, lording it with the waters, cause to rain: let them free us from distress.

Ppp. reads in a (as in 26. 6 a) kīlālāis; and it rectifies the meter of c by omitting

title: Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/366


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Collier, John Payne


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Collier, Robert Porrett


text:
User talk:98.206.49.44

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title: User talk:98.206.49.44


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Page:Tale of Paraguay - Southey.djvu/132

126

Yea, so possest with that best hope were they, That if the heavens had opened overhead, And the Archangel with his trump that day To judgement had convoked the quick and dead, They would have heard the summons not with dread But in the joy of faith that knows no fear: Come Lord! come quickly! would this pair have said, And thou O Queen of men and Angels dear, Lift us whom thou hast loved into thy happy sphere!

They wept not at the grave, tho' overwrought With feelings there as if the heart would break. Some haply might have deem'd they suffered not; Yet they who look'd upon that Maiden meek Might see what deep emotion blanched her cheek. An inward light there was which fill'd her eyes, And told, more forcibly than words could speak, That this disruption of her earliest ties Had shaken mind and frame in all their faculties.


text:
User talk:SkookumDog

— billinghurst  sDrewth  14:30, 9 May 2012 (UTC)

title: User talk:SkookumDog


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Rh

It was not passion only that disturb'd Her gentle nature thus; it was not grief; Nor human feeling by the effort curb'd Of some misdeeming duty, when relief Were surely to be found, albeit brief, If sorrow at its springs might freely flow; Nor yet repining, stronger than belief In its first force, that shook the Maiden so, Tho' these alone might that frail fabric overthrow.

The seeds of death were in her at that hour. Soon was their quickening and their growth display'd: Thenceforth she droop'd and withered like a flower, Which when it flourished in its native shade Some child to his own garden hath convey'd, And planted in the sun, to pine away. Thus was the gentle Mooma seen to fade, Not under sharp disease, but day by day Losing the powers of life in visible decay.


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Page:O. F. Owen's Organon of Aristotle Vol. 2 (1853).djvu/238

 indeed grants when interrogated, that it is not any of those things which signify essence, but the other shows that it is one of the number of relatives or quantities, and seems to signify essence on account of the diction, for instance, in this argument. Is it possible to do, and to have done, the same thing at the same time? No. But it is possible to see, and at the same time to have seen, the same thing, and according to the same. Is it possible for any thing which suffers, to act? No. But "it is cut," "it is burned," "it is perceived," are enunciated similarly, and all signify to suffer something; again, "to speak," "to run," "to see" are enunciated similarly with each other, but "to see" is to perceive something, so that it is to suifer, and to act something, at one and the same time. Still, if any one having there granted that it is impossible to do and to have done the same thing at the same time, should say that it is possible to see and to have seen, he is not yet confuted, if he should not say that "to see" is to do something, but to suffer, for there is no need of this interrogation, but he is supposed by the hearer to have granted this, when he granted that "to cut" is to do, and "to cut" is to have done something, and whatever other things are similarly asserted. For the auditor himself supplies the rest as asserted in a similar manner, but this is not similarly asserted, but seems to be so from the diction. The same thing indeed happens, as in equivocations, for in them, he who is ignorant of words, thinks that (the opponent) denies the thing which (the respondent affirms), and not the name (only), though there is still need of an interrogation, whether regarding one thing he asserts the equivocal, for this being granted there will be an elenchus.

The following arguments also are like these: Whether has some one lost that, which once


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128

The sunny hue that tinged her cheek was gone, A deathy paleness settled in its stead; The light of joy which in her eyes had shone, Now like a lamp that is no longer fed Grew dim: but when she raised her heavy head Some proffered help of kindness to partake, Those feeble eyes a languid lustre shed, And her sad smile of thankfulness would wake Grief even in callous hearts for that sweet sufferer's sake.

How had Yeruti borne to see her fade? But he was spared the lamentable sight, Himself upon the bed of sickness laid. Joy of his heart, and of his eyes the light Had Mooma been to him, his soul's delight, On whom his mind for ever was intent, His darling thought by day, his dream by night, The playmate of his youth in mercy sent, With whom his life had past in peacefullest content.


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Rh

Well was it for the youth, and well for her, As there in placid helplessness she lay, He was not present with his love to stir Emotions that might shake her feeble clay, And rouse up in her heart a strong array Of feelings, hurtful only when they bind To earth the soul that soon must pass away. But this was spared them; and no pain of mind To trouble her had she, instinctively resigned.

Nor was there wanting to the sufferers aught Of careful kindness to alleviate The affliction; for the universal thought In that poor town was of their sad estate, And what might best relieve or mitigate Their case, what help of nature or of art; And many were the prayers compassionate That the good Saints their healing would impart. Breathed in that maid's behalf from many a tender heart.


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Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/367

197 adbhis. The comm. takes váyas first as "bird" (pakṣijātam), then as çarīrapariṇāmaviçeṣas.

6. If now indeed, O Maruts, by what relates to the Maruts—if, O gods, by what relates to the gods, I have fallen into such a plight: ye, O Vasus, are masters (īç) of the removal of that: let them free us from distress.

7. A sharp front, known [as] powerful, [is] the troop (çárdhas) of Maruts, formidable in fights; I praise the Maruts, [as] a suppliant I call loudly on [them]: let them free us from distress.

1. O Bhava-and-Çarva, I reverence you, know ye that; ye in whose direction is all that shines out (vi-ruc) here, who lord it over these bipeds [and] quadrupeds: do ye free us from distress.

2. Ye whose is whatever is on the way and afar; who are known as best shooters among arrow-bearers; who lord it etc. etc.

title: Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/367


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130

And vows were made for her, if vows might save; She for herself the while preferr'd no prayer; For when she stood beside her Mother's grave, Her earthly hopes and thoughts had ended there. Her only longing now was, free as air From this obstructive flesh to take her flight For Paradise, and seek her Mother there, And then regaining her beloved sight Rest in the eternal sense of undisturb'd delight.

Her heart was there, and there she felt and knew That soon full surely should her spirit be. And who can tell what foretastes might ensue To one, whose soul, from all earth's thraldom free, Was waiting thus for immortality? Sometimes she spake with short and hurried breath As if some happy sight she seem'd to see, While in the fulness of a perfect faith Even with a lover's hope she lay and look'd for death.


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Rh

I said that for herself the patient maid Preferr'd no prayer; but oft her feeble tongue And feebler breath a voice of praise essay'd; And duly when the vesper bell was rung, Her evening hymn in faint accord she sung So piously, that they who gathered round Awe-stricken on her heavenly accents hung, As tho' they thought it were no mortal sound. But that the place whereon they stood was holy ground.

At such an hour when Dobrizhoffer stood Beside her bed, oh how unlike, he thought This voice to that which ringing thro' the wood Had led him to the secret bower he sought! And was it then for this that he had brought That harmless household from their native shade? Death had already been the mother's lot; And this fair Mooma, was she form'd to fade So soon,—so soon must she in earth's cold lap be laid?


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132

Yet he had no misgiving at the sight; And wherefore should he? he had acted well, And deeming of the ways of God aright, Knew that to such as these, whate'er befell Must needs for them be best. But who could dwell Unmoved upon the fate of one so young, So blithesome late? What marvel if tears fell, From that good man as over her he hung, And that the prayers he said came faltering from his tongue!

She saw him weep, and she could understand The cause thus tremulously that made him speak. By his emotion moved she took his hand; A gleam of pleasure o'er her pallid cheek Past, while she look'd at him with meaning meek, And for a little while, as loth to part, Detaining him, her fingers lank and weak, Play'd with their hold; then letting him depart She gave him a slow smile that touch'd him to the heart.


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Sunday following Lettie’s visit to the mill, Leslie came up in the morning, admirably dressed, and perfected by a grand air. I showed him into the dark drawing-room, and left him. Ordinarily he would have wandered to the stairs, and sat there calling to Lettie; to-day he was silent. I carried the news of his arrival to my sister, who was pinning on her brooch.

“And how is the dear boy?” she asked.

“I have not inquired,” said I.

She laughed, and loitered about till it was time to set off for church before she came downstairs. Then she also assumed the grand air and bowed to him with a beautiful bow. He was somewhat taken aback and had nothing to say. She rustled across the room to the window, where the white geraniums grew magnificently. “I must adorn myself,” she said.

It was Leslie’s custom to bring her flowers. As he had not done so this day, she was piqued. He hated the scent and chalky whiteness of the geraniums. So she smiled at him as she pinned them into the bosom of her dress, saying:

“They are very fine, are they not?”

He muttered that they were. Mother came downstairs, greeted him warmly, and asked him if he would take her to church.


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Rh

Mourn not for her! for what hath life to give That should detain her ready spirit here? Thinkest thou that it were worth a wish to live, Could wishes hold her from her proper sphere? That simple heart, that innocence sincere The world would stain. Fitter she ne'er could be For the great change; and now that change is near, Oh who would keep her soul from being free! Maiden beloved of Heaven, to die is best for thee!

She hath past away, and on her lips a smile Hath settled, fix'd in death. Judged they aright, Or suffered they their fancy to beguile The reason, who believed that she had sight Of Heaven before her spirit took its flight; That Angels waited round her lowly bed; And that in that last effort of delight, When lifting up her dying arms, she said, I come! a ray from Heaven upon her face was shed?


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134

St. Joachin's had never seen a day Of such profuse and general grief before, As when with tapers, dirge, and long array The Maiden's body to the grave they bore. All eyes, all hearts, her early death deplore; Yet wondering at the fortune they lament, They the wise ways of Providence adore, By whom the Pastor surely had been sent When to the Mondai woods upon his quest he went.

This was, indeed, a chosen family. For Heaven's especial favor mark'd, they said; Shut out from all mankind they seem'd to be, Yet mercifully there were visited, That so within the fold they might be led, Then call'd away to bliss. Already two In their baptismal innocence were dead; The third was on the bed of death they knew, And in the appointed course must presently ensue.


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Rh “If you will allow me,” said he.

“You are modest to-day,” laughed mother.

“To-day!” he repeated.

“I hate modesty in a young man,” said mother—“Come, we shall be late.” Lettie wore the geraniums all day—till evening. She brought Alice Gall home to tea, and bade me bring up “Mon Taureau,” when his farm work was over.

The day had been hot and close. The sun was reddening in the west as we leaped across the lesser brook. The evening scents began to awake, and wander unseen through the still air. An occasional yellow sunbeam would slant through the thick roof of leaves and cling passionately to the orange clusters of mountain-ash berries. The trees were silent, drawing together to sleep. Only a few pink orchids stood palely by the path, looking wistfully out at the ranks of red-purple bugle, whose last flowers, glowing from the top of the bronze column, yearned darkly for the sun.

We sauntered on in silence, not breaking the first hush of the woodlands. As we drew near home we heard a murmur from among the trees, from the lover’s seat, where a great tree had fallen and remained mossed and covered with fragile growth. There a crooked bough made a beautiful seat for two.

“Fancy being in love and making a row in such a twilight,” said I as we continued our way. But when we came opposite the fallen tree, we saw no lovers there, but a man sleeping, and muttering through his sleep. The cap had fallen from his grizzled hair, and his head leaned back against a profusion of the little wild geraniums that decorated the


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Rh

They marvell'd, therefore, when the youth once more Rose from his bed and walk'd abroad again; Severe had been the malady, and sore The trial, while life struggled to maintain Its seat against the sharp assaults of pain: But life in him was vigorous; long he lay Ere it could its ascendancy regain: Then when the natural powers resumed their sway All trace of late disease past rapidly away.

The first enquiry when his mind was free, Was for his sister. She was gone, they said, Gone to her Mother, evermore to be With her in Heaven. At this no tears he shed Nor was he seen to sorrow for the dead; But took the fatal tidings in such part As if a dull unfeeling nature bred His unconcern; for hard would seem the heart To which a loss like his no suffering could impart.


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136

How little do they see what is, who frame Their hasty judgement upon that which seems! Waters that babble on their way proclaim All shallowness: but in their strength deep stream Flow silently. Of death Yeruti deems Not as an ill, but as the last great good, Compared with which all other he esteems Transient and void: how then should thought intrude Of sorrow in his heart for their beatitude?

While dwelling in their sylvan solitude Less had Yeruti learnt to entertain A sense of age than death. He understood Something of death from creatures he had slain; But here the ills which follow in the train Of age, had first to him been manifest,— The shrunken form, the limbs that move with pain, The failing sense, infirmity, unrest,— That in his heart he said to die betimes was best.


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Rh

Nor had he lost the dead: they were but gone Before him, whither he should shortly go. Their robes of glory they had first put on; He, cumbered with mortality, below Must yet abide awhile, content to know He should not wait in long expectance here. What cause then for repining, or for woe? Soon shall he join them in their heavenly sphere, And often, even now, he knew that they were near.

'Twas but hi open day to close his eyes, And shut out the uprofitable view Of all this weary world's realities, And forthwith, even as if they lived anew, The dead were with him: features, form and hue, And looks and gestures were restored again: Their actual presence in his heart he knew; And when their converse was disturbed. Oh then How flat and stale it was to mix with living men!


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Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/42

34 dead bough so delicately. The man’s clothing was good, but slovenly and neglected. His face was pale and worn with sickness and dissipation. As he slept, his grey beard wagged, and his loose unlovely mouth moved in indistinct speech. He was acting over again some part of his life, and his features twitched during the unnatural sleep. He would give a little groan, gruesome to hear and then talk to some woman. His features twitched as if with pain, and he moaned slightly.

The lips opened in a grimace showing the yellow teeth behind the beard. Then he began again talking in his throat, thickly, so that we could only tell part of what he said. It was very unpleasant. I wondered how we should end it. Suddenly through the gloom of the twilight-haunted woods came the scream of a rabbit caught by a weasel. The man awoke with a sharp “Ah!”—he looked round in consternation, then sinking down again wearily, said, “I was dreaming again.”

“You don’t seem to have nice dreams,” said George.

The man winced, then looking at us said, almost sneering:

“And who are you?”

We did not answer, but waited for him to move. He sat still, looking at us.

“So!” he said at last, wearily, “I do dream. I do, I do.” He sighed heavily. Then he added, sarcastically; “Were you interested?”

“No,” said I. “But you are out of your way surely. Which road did you want?”

“You want me to clear out,” he said.


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138

But not the less, whate'er was to be done, With living men he took his part content, At loom, in garden, or a-field, as one Whose spirit wholly no obedience bent, To every task its prompt attention lent. Alert in labor he among the best; And when to church the congregation went, None more exact than he to cross his breast, And kneel, or rise, and do in all things like the rest.

Cheerful he was, almost like one elate With wine, before it hath disturb'd his power Of reason. Yet he seem'd to feel the weight Of time; for alway when from yonder tower He heard the clock tell out the passing hour, The sound appeared to give him some delight: And when the evening shades began to lower, Then was he seen to watch the fading light As if his heart rejoiced at the return of night.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Collignon, Catherine


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Rh

The old man to whom he had been given in care, To Dobrizhoffer came one day and said, The trouble which our youth was thought to bear, With such indifference, hath deranged his head. He says that he is nightly visited. His Mother and his Sister come and say That he must give this message from the dead Not to defer his baptism, and delay A soul upon the earth which should no longer stay.

A dream the Jesuit deem'd it; a deceit Upon itself by feverish fancy wrought; A mere delusion which it were not meet To censure, lest the youth's distempered thought Might thereby be to farther error brought; But he himself its vanity would find,— They argued thus,—if it were noticed not. His baptism was in fitting time design'd The father said, and then dismiss'd it from his mind.


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140

But the old Indian came again ere long With the same tale, and freely then confest His doubt that he had done Yeruti wrong; For something more than common seem'd imprest; And now he thought that certes it were best From the youth's lips his own account to hear, Haply the Father then to his request Might yield, regarding his desire sincere, Nor wait for farther time if there were aught to fear.

Considerately the Jesuit heard and bade The youth be called. Yeruti told his tale. Nightly these blessed spirits came, he said, To warn him he must come within the pale Of Christ without delay; nor must he fail This warning to their Pastor to repeat, Till the renewed intreaty should prevail. Life's business then for him would be complete, And 'twas to tell him this they left their starry seat.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Collignon, Charles