seven minutes in eternity (1929)

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William

Dudley

My Seven Minutesi c u e y • *

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The

March, 1929

i f A •

American1 V M agaz i ne

M O R E T H A N 2 , 2 0 0 , 0 0 0 C I R C U L A T I O N

¥ ¥ ¥

Seven M inut es in Et erni t y—

the Amazing Experience that

M ade Me Over

IN Ill l Sierra Mad re Moun-tains, mar Pasadena, Cal-ifornia. i own a bungalow. When I warn sec lusi on in or-der to complete a knotty job

of writing. 1 lay in a stock of provisions. bid a d i e u to acquaintances,motor up to this hideaway, and work there und ist urbed. M v on ly companion is I . ha, a tawn y policedog.

In the month of \pril. 102H, I was living in this bunga low whil e writing a novel. 1 lie wor k had gone"ell and was m.umg completion.I was untroubled mentally, feelingphysically fit, writing six to eighthours a day. with plenty of eve

mng recreationOne night toward the last of the

'A! 1 *returned around ten o’clock

Tk k' r.ea,^'nk ln h*'d till mid ni ght ,‘ he book had nothing t o do. 1 am

har>nlnCej ’ " b a t sub seq uen tly C " ' I t w as a p on de ro us v ol

&onieth,et i 0J1V' a M|bje ct tha t isfelt dr '08 ° a bobb y with me. Ithe aromul ‘"bl nig ht, laidglasses,'a asult' ' !n,lll‘d off my bmp. I u. 1 ^tm gius hed the bedtoutine on A A rbrough a similarn'ngs thn 1 U | UIUbed oth er eve

a hunt' Jad !Ht'n m> diff erentSpcnt in t h e I ° i1 e r w r i r * n K d a y s

• bungdow.

31 the baeS nV l? ni!Hru; ,s bear edPerfectly venr' l 1 HISe ; i lul was

ment window 11 " lth two cas es r s * p i n g toward the

By W i l l i a m D u d l e y P e l l e y

ir*r at the f " " Cl|r!ed on thereustrm, 1 ,(>ot

Jf e1 sJ e did no t " ' “ ** . ^ B a n d .Pbenoinen-, e-XUrrila,|y motivate

»f my bed—herepmg place—and

K S ” n*»y 1 am| , n ' B y h o d ' 1 trn i l e d ’ ; " u i 1 w a s

' st,i!uhlcd from

■XTOT long ago William Dudley Pelley

•E^ came into the office of T h e A m e r h

c a x M a g a z in e , after an absence of morethan a year.

’’Man, what’s happened to you?” askedthe editor. “ You’re looking incredibly

better than you did the last time I saw you.”“You’ve never seen me before,” replied

M r. Pelley.

“Just what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that the fellow who is standing

before you now is a new Bill Pelley so

new that he's only about one year old. I've

had an experience . . . .

On the strength of that conversation

Mr. Pelley was asked to write about his

great adventure. Neither the editor nor

any members of the staff knew what trans'forming experience the author had been

through, but it was evident to all that hehad greatly changed, both in appearance

and in manner. Th e accompanying articleis the intimate account of his “re-birth.”

It will surprise and interest you as muchas it surprised and interested the staff of

T h e A m e r i c a n M a g a z i n e . The Editor.

the bed and my voice awoke her,bringing her over beside me, whereshe thumped her tail on the rug andsought to lick my wrist. . . .

I do not recall having any spe-cific dreams the first half of thenight, no physical distress, certainly no insomnia. Ordinarily, I do notuse liquor and I had none on thepremises or in my system on thisnight in question. For twenty

ye ar s 1 had con sum ed fr om a doz ento twenty cigars daily and smokedmy pipe constantly over the type-

wr ite r. Bu t I had ne ve r ob ser vedany derogatory effects from suchindulgence and was no more dis-tressed than usual from this partic-ular day’s consumption of nicotine.

F )U T between three and four inthe morning—the time later

verified —a ghastly inner shriekseemed to tear through my somnolent consciousness. In despairinghorror I wailed to myself:

“ I 'm dying! I ’m dying !" \\ hat t old me, I don ’t know.

Some uncanny instinct had beenunleashed in slumber to awakenand apprise me. Cer tainly some-thing was happening to me—some-thing that had never happeneddown all my days— a physical sen-sation which I can best describe asa combination of heart attack anda poplexy

Mind you, I say ph ys ic al sensa-tion. This was not a dream. I wasfully awake, and yet 1 was not. Iknew that something had happenedeither to my heart or head—or both— and that my conscious identity wa s at th e pl ay of for ces ov er wh ichit had no control. I was awake,mind you, and whereas I had been



March, 1929

<7 hI P A •

American1 V M agaz i ne


Seven Minutes i n —


Made Me Over

IN IUK S ierra Madre Moun-tains, near Pasadena, Cal-ifornia, 1 own a bungalow.

When I wa nt seclus ion in or -der to complete a knotty job

writing, I lay in a stock o f pro-ions , bid adi eu to ac qu ai nt an ce s,

otor up to this hideaway, andr k there un di st ur be d. M y on ly mpanion is Laska, a tawny police

g.In the month of April, 1028, Is li vi ng in th is bu ng al ow whil ei ting a novel. The wo rk had gonell and wa s ne ar in g comp le ti on .was untroubled mentally, feelingysically fit, writing six to eighturs a day, with plenty of eve -ng recreation.One night toward the last o f theonth I returned around ten o’clockd lay reading in bed rill midnight.e book had nothing to do, I amnvinced, with what subsequently ppened. It was a ponderous vol-

me on ethnology, a subject that ismething of a hobby with me. 1t drowsy around midnight, laid

e volume aside, pulled off my asses, and extinguished the bedmp. I had gone through a similarutine on a hundred o ther eve -ngs; the day had been no differentom a hundred other writing daysent in the bungalow.My sleeping chamber was locatedthe back of the house and was

erfectly ventilated, with two case-ent windows opening toward theountains. La ska curled on the

oor at the foot o f my bed— hercustomed sleeping place— andat she did not externally motivatee phenomena in any way, I amsitive. W hen it ended, a nd I w as

ck in mv bodv, 1 stumbled from

B y W i l l i a m D u d l e y P e l l e y

'^ T O T long ago William DuJlev Pelley

came into the office of T h e A m e r i -

c a n M a g a z i n e , after an absence of morethan a year.

“Man, what’s happened to you?” asked

the editor. “ You’re looking incrediblybetter than you did the last time I saw you."

“You've never seen me before,” replied

Mr. Pelley.


“I mean that the fellow who is standingbefore you now is a new Bill Pelley —sonew that he's only about one year old. I've

had an experience. . . ."

On the strength of that conversationMr. Pelley was asked to write about hisgreat adventure. Neither the editor norany members of the staff knew what trans-

forming experience the author had beenthrough, but it was evident to all that hehad greatly changed, both in appearanceand in manner. Th e accompanying article

is the intimate account of his “re-birth.”It will surprise and interest you as muchas it surprised and interested the staff ofT h e A m e r i c a n M a g a z i n e . The Editor.


I do not recall having any spe-cific dreams the first half of thenight, no physical distress, certainly no insomnia. Ordi naril y, I do notuse liquor and 1 had none on thepremises or in my system on this

night in question. For twen ty ye ar s I ha d co nsum ed fr om a doz ento twenty cigars daily and smokedmy pipe constantly over the type-

wr it er . But I had ne ve r ob se rv edany derogatory effects from suchindulgence and was no more dis-tressed than usual from this partic-ular day’s consumption of nicotine.

D l 1 between three and four inthe morning—the time later

ve ri fi ed — a gh as tl y in ner sh ri ekseemed to tear through my somno-lent consciousness. In despairinghorror 1 wailed to myself:

“ I ' m d y in g ! I 'm d y i n g ! " \\ hat told me, I don ’t know.

Some uncanny instinct had beenunleashed in slumber to awakenand apprise me. Cer tainly some-thing was happening to me— some-thing that had never happeneddown all my days—a physical sen-sation which I can best describe asa combination of heart attack anda poplexv.

Mind you, 1 say ph ys ic al sensa-tion. 1 his was not a dream. 1 wasfully awake, and yet 1 was not. Iknew that something had happenedeither to my heart or head—or both— and that my conscious identity wa s at th e pl ay o f force s over whic hit bad no control. I was awake,

mind vou, and whereas I had been



on a bed in the shado wy dark o f a Cali-fornia bungalow when the phenomenonstarted, the next moment 1 was plungingdown a m ystic depth o f cool, blue space, wi th a s in king sensation like that which at-tends the takin g of ether as an anesthetic.Queer noises were singing in my ears.Over and over in a curiously tumbledbrain the thought was preeminent:

u So this is death ? ”

I A V E R th at in th e in te rv al be tw ee n my seizure and the end of my plunge, 1

wa s su ff ic ie nt ly possess ed o f m y ph ys ic alsenses to think: “ M v dead body may liein this lonely house for days before any-one discovers it— unless Lask a breaks outand brings aid.”

\\ by 1 should think that, I don't know— or what difference it would have madeto in e, being the lifeless “ remai ns"— but1 remember thinking the thought as dis-tinctly as any thought 1 ever originatedconsciously and put on paper in the prac-tice of my vocation.

Next , 1 wa s wh ir li ng ma dl y . Once inrpgo over San Francisco an airplane in

which 1 wa s pa ss enge r we nt int o a railspin and we almost fell into the Colden

Gate . That feeling! Someone reachedout, caught me, stopped me. A calm,clear, friendly voice said, close to my ear:

1 ake it easy, old man. Do n’t bealar med. \ ou're all right. We re here tohelp you."

Someone had hold of me, I said— twopersons in fac t— one with a hand underthe back of my neck, supporting my

we ig ht , th e ot he r wi th ar m run un de r my knees. 1 was physi call y flaccid from my “ tumble” and unable to open my eyes as

y e t be ca us e o f the st in g of qu ee r, opallight that diffused the place into which 1had come.

Wh en I Anal ly ma na ge d it. J be ca meconscious that I had been borne to a

beautiful marbleslab pallet and laid nudeupon it by two strongbodied, kindlyfaced young men in white uniforms notunlike those worn by internes in hospitals,

who we re se cr et ly am us ed at m y co nf u-sion and chagrin.

“ Feeling better : " the tal ler of the twoasked considerately, as physical strengthto sit up unaided came to me and 1 tooknote of my surroundings.

“ Y es , 1 stammered. “ Where am I : ”1 hey exchanged goodhumored glances.

They never answered my question.They did not need to answer my ques-

tion. It was superfluous. 1 knew whathad happened. 1 had left my earthly body on a bungalow bed in the Californiamountains. / had gone through all the sensations of dying, and whether this wasthe Hereafter or an intermediate station,most emphatically I had reached a placeand state which had never been dupli-cated in all my experience.

I say this because of the inexpressibleecstasy o f my new state, both mental andphysical.

For 1 had carried some sort of body intotha t new environment with me. 1 knewthat it was nude. It had been capableof feeling the cool, steadying pressureof my friends’ hands before my eyesopened. And now tha t I had reawake ned wi th ou t the sl ig ht es t di st re ss or ha rm , I was consci ous ot a bea uty and loveli nes sof environment that surpasses chroni-

cling on printed paper.

A sort o f ma rb le t il ed a nd f ur ni sh edportico the place was, lighted by that soft,unseen, opal illumination, with a clearascrystal Roman pool diagonally across fr om the bench on which I remained for a time, striving to credit that all this wasreal. Out beyond the portico everythingappeared to exist in a sort o f turquoisehaze. . . .

I looked from this vista back to thetwo friends who had received me. I here

we re no ot he r persons an yw her e in ev i-dence in the first half of my experience.Somehow I knew those two men—

knew them as intimately as 1 knew the re-flection of my own features in a mirror.

An d yet so me th in g ab ou t them , their vi ri li ty , th ei r ph ys ic al “ g lo w ," th ei rstrong and friendly personality subli-mated. as it were, kept me from instantidentification.

An d th ey kn ew a good joke ab ou t me.1 hey continued to watch me, with a smilein their eyes, when 1 got down from my marble bend) and moved about the por-tico till 1 came to the edge of the pool.

“ Bathe in it , " came the instruction.“ Yo u’ll find you' ll enjoy it ."

1 went down the steps into delightful

wa te r. An d here is on e o f th e st ra ng es tincidents of the whole “ adven ture” . . .

wh en 1 ca me up fr om th at ba th 1 wa s nolonger conscious th at 1 wa s nude. On theother hand, neither was 1 conscious of havi ng donned clothes. 1 he bath didsomething to me in the way of clothingme. \\ hat. I don ’t know.

But immed iately I came up garbed,somehow, by the magic contact of the

wa te r, peo pl e be ga n co mi ng in to the pa tio,crossing over it and going down the south-ern steps and oft into the inexpressibleturquoise. As they passed me, they castcuriously amused glances at me. A nd everybody nodded and spoke to me. 1 hey had a kindness, a courtesy, a friendliness,

in their faces and addresses that quiteoverwhelme d me. Think of all the saintly,attractive, magnetic folk you know, im-agine them constituting the whole social

wor ld no misf its, no te nse coun te nanc es ,no sour leers, no preoccupied brusquenessor physical handic ap— and the whole en- vi ro nm en t o f lif e pe rm ea te d wi th an ec-static harmony as universal as air, and

yo u get an idea of m y re fle xes in thos e mo-ments. I recall exclaimin g to myself:

“ How happv everybody seems!— bow joll y! E v e r y in di vid ua l he re co nv ey ssomething that makes me want to knowhim personally.” 1 hen, with a sense of shock, it dawned upon me: “ I have known every one of these people at some time or other, personally, intimately! But they aresublimated now— physically glorif ied—not as 1 knew them in life at all."

IC A N N 0 1 m a ke anyone understand how natural it all seemed that 1 shouldbe there. Afte r that first pres entment of

dying — which experience had ended inthe most kindly ministration— all terrorarid strangeness left me and I had neverfelt more alive. It never occurred to methat I was in “ he av en, " or, if it did, it oc-casioned me no more astonishment thatI should be there than when, at someperiod of my mundane consciousness, ithad occurred to me that I was on “ earth.". . . After all, do we know much moreabout the one than the other?

I bad simply ended a queer voyage

through bluish void and found mysa charming place among jolly, w

wh il e pe op le wh o sa w in me so methat amused them to the point of laughter. Yet not a laughter that 1

resent. 1 had no mad obsessi on to at once in search of Deity or loo

Ab ra ham Li ncol n or Ju l ius Cresar . quite content to stroll timid ly in the ity of the portico by which 1 had enthis harmonious place and he gr

with pl ea sa nt nods by persons whosdividualities were uncannily familiarI hey were conventionally garbed,

persons, both men and wome n. 1 quite plainly that the latter wore 1 can see with perfect clarity in my meye rhe outline of the millinery worndignified elderly lady at whose deathhad been present, in Sioux City, Iowi()2y. 1 he big, broadshouldered, eyed fellow in white duck who hadreceived me, with his hand beneathnape of my neck, always hovered i

vi ci ni ty , 1 rec al l, and ke pt an ey e o wh er ea bo ut s an d de po rt me nt . . . .

T P L E D G E my reputation that I t*■ wi th th ese pe ople , ident if ie d m an

them, called the others by their wnames and was corrected, saw andthings that night almost a year ago tis verboten for me to narrate in a magarticle, but which I recall with a miness of detail as graphic to me as theof my typewriter are now, under mygers. Regardles s of the fact that ination is the chief asset in one of mcation, 1 am not given to particugraphiedreams. Certainly, we never dby the process of coming awake knowing that we are suffering someof heart or head attack, swooning,coming abruptly conscious again inarms of two kindly persons who reaus audibly that everything is quit

right. Nor do the impressions of a dso stay with us at least they have so stayed w ith me— that after a yearan experience is as vivid as many o f mperiences in Siberia during the late \\

Wa r.1 went somewhere, penetrated

distinct place, and had an actual, crete experienc e. 1 found myse lf an ing entity in a locality where pershad always called “ de ad " were notat all. I hey were ve ry much alive.

1 he termination of this journeyexit so to speak— was as peculiar aadvent.

I was wand ering alone about the p1 have described, with most of my rnizable friends gone out of it for thement, when I was caught in a swbluish vapor that seemed to roll in nowhere in particular. Instead of ping prone I was lifted or levitate d.up, up 1 seemed to tumble, feet fi rsspite the ludicrousness of the descrip

A lon g, swift, swirling journey of An d then so me th ing cl ic ke d— somein my body . Th e best analogy isound my repeating deerrifle m wh en I work th e ej ec to r me ch an isflat, metallic, automatic sensation.

Next, I was sitting up in bed inphysical body again, as wide awakeam at this moment, staring at the of window where the moon was down, with a reflex of physical exhau

through my chest, diaphragm, and



PHOfOG««i»M Hr A. fi in C-*i It 0M%5 ’0* . It t

men that lasted several moments. Notany digestive distress, you understand;simply a great weariness in my torso as if 1 had passed through a tremendous physi-cal ordeal and my heart must accelerateto make up the lost energy.

That wasn’t a dream!’’ 1 cried aloud.And my vo ice aw ok e Las ka, wh o st ra ig ht -ened to her haunches.

I here was no more slumber for me thatnight. I lay back final ly with the whole ex-perience fresh in m y senses but an awfullamentation in my heart that 1 was forcedto come back at all— back into a world of struggle and disappointment, turmoil andmisinterpretation, to an existence of hill

William Dudley Pelley

collectors, unfriendly hankers, capriciouseditors, and caustic critics— to all the men-tal and physical aches and pains whichcombine with the slings and arrows of out-rageous fortune to make of this KarthPlane a \ ale of Tears.

It was tragedy, the coming back.Call it the Hereafter, call it Heaven,

call it Purgatory, call it the Astral Plane,call it the Fourth Dimension, call it What'You \\ ill. Wh atev er it is—and where—that human entities go after being re-leased from physical limitations, I hadgone there that night. And, like Lazaru sof old. 1 had been called back— back tothe anguish (in comparison) of physi-

cal existence to finish out my time in theconventi onal manner. I p to the mome ntof writing this article almost a year later,I have had not the slightest ind ication to-

wa rd a re pe ti ti on o f the ep iso de . Dre am s•I have had, and occasi onall y a fine, oldfashioned nightmare, hut I have knownthem for such. Somehow or othe r, insleep that night, I unhooked something inthe strange mechanism that is Spirit inMatter, and for from seven to ten min-utes my own conscious entity that is HillPelley, writingman, slipped over to theOther Side.

There is a survival of human entity after death oj the body, (Con tinue d on page 139 )



operate an efficient and regular service. I“ Flyin g is really safe, when the proper

safeguards are taken. Isn ’t that true of almost anything else?

“ As for speed, the contrast betweenflying and any other means of transpor-tation is incredible. It takes twe nty hourso go to Chicago from New \ ork by fast

train; by plane it is possible to travel thatdistance in nine hours. Indeed, the new

models of highpowered commercial shipswill be ab le to do it in si x hou rs. T h a t ’sw hy bus ine ss men tr av el mor e fr eq ue nt ly by plane nowadays; why national organi-zations are buying planes to transportgoods to all corners of the country , l imes what we try to sav e more than anythin g

else.“ And you should have been here last

Sun day . We took up more than five hun-dred passengers. Some whole families—father, mother, and children— went upogether. Then they would ask if they

might be allowed to line up beside theplane and have their picture taken. Iuppose they’re mighty proud of those

pictures now. Bur in ten year s flying willbe an old story with a good many of theseolks.’’

A S T H E G R E A T W A R re ce de s and becomes history, mo re and more facts about the part that Amer ica played n it come to light. Next mont h, in How We Kept Tabs on the Germ an

A r m y , ” yo u will le ar n abo ut th e in ide workings of our Secret Service

during the stupen dous conflict. A ascinating article with all the lure of

a detective or mystery story!

Seven Minutes in

Eternity

{Continued from page q )

o r I have seen an d tal ked int ell ige nt ly with r iend s whom I had look ed dow n upon as old wax in caskets.

But that is not all. There is plenty of ftermath. I o describe the effects of thexperience, however, it is necessary to in-rude a few personal confidences, none of

which I am ea ger to make.I brought something back with me

rom that Ecstatic Interlude— somethinghat had interpenetrated my physical self

and which suddenly began to function in

trange powers of perception.1 was horn the only son of an itinerantMethodist preacher. Soon after my birthmy parents began that oldfashionedOdyssey of traveling from “ call' ' to “ call”n the northern Massachusetts back bills.

Orthodox Protestant theology, as it wasforty years ago, was far more plentifuln my father’s household than bread, but-

ter, clothes, and fuel. Ca mp meeti ngs andquarterly conferences, the highe r criticism,predestination, free will and election, in-fant damnation, hell fire, and the day of judgment constituted the householdconverse in my youn g and “ tend er” ye ars.God early shaped up to me as a weirdcombination of heavenly Moloch and sub-limated Overseer of the Poor.

Parish poverty forced my father fromthe ministry, hut with grim New England

A woman

solves a problemt h a t h a s b u r d e n e f j f h

millions o

H

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acquaintances have noticed the change1. "

Miss I r e n e A n d e r s ,

2727 He mp hill Street, Fort Worth, Texas

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d u s td u l l s e y e s

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rigor lie saw ro ir that his relinquishmentof a pulpit did not lessen my surfeit o f convention al theology. 1 hree times tochurch on the Sabbath day and twice dur-ing the week— I uesday evening classmeeting and Thursday evening prayermeeting— left me small opportun ity toforget my Maker and the gratitude Iowed Him. Ju st what this gratitude wasowed Him fo r troubled my small soul ex-ceedingly in those faroff years, becauseI found myse lf created a perp etual ly hungry, shabbily dressed, and nonetoohappy youngster who had to start his lifelabor at fourteen years of age and stay

with ir ther ea ft er , ev en to the prese nt.

IN I H E y ears between fourteen andtwentytwo I became a smoldering

yo ung bo ls he vi k ag ai ns t ev ery kin d o f authority— particularly against religious au-thority which had apparently sanctionedthese injustices against me— and by pick-ing up the rudiments of a denied educationthrough promiscuous reading, f went farafield from accredited Christianity.

No need to clutter up this article witha list of the books I read, but at tw enty two, in a little town in northern New

Yo rk , 1 wa s pu bl ishi ng a brochu re m ag a-zine of heretical leanings. 1 had discoveredmyself possessed of a certain facility withiconoclastic language, and the courage of my ignorance. Fresh from a wry, lonely,misunderstood childhood, cluttered uppsychologically with the worst sort of New England inhibitions, revengeful that1 had been denied social and academicadvantages for which my hunger was in-stinctive, 1 proceeded ro play a lone handand make things hot for several godly people whose only indictment was thatthey represented Authority as aforesaid—and especially spiritual.

On maturer perspective I see that Ishould have been spanked—or educated—but all the theological misfits in forty

eight states and a couple of foreigncountries were soon buying my magazine,and my twaddle was piling up to give memuch heartache later when 1 came to seethat I took out on Ciod what I should havetaken out on an inhibited environment.

The Almighty stood the onslaughtpret ty well, howeve r. I got into news-paper work, and marriage, and father-hood, and more poverty, and that was thelast of the heretical magazine, though notof its owner’ s theological complexes. 1shopped around in my religions. 1 readstill queerer books. And inevi tably theday came when immature intelligencecouldn' t stand this food, and instead of digesting it, 1 ejected it a la mat dr mrr. . . . For ten years I was one of the worstagnostics that ever had books come to hispostoffice box in plain wrappers fromfreak publishing houses.

1 had brains enough to see that my lifehad been started all wrong and was “ get-ting no better fast." but had not theacademic or social equipment to alterexistence and start myself aboutface.

Those were cruel, cruel years— lookingback on them now. A couple of my busi-ness projects went to whac k. So did my marriage. W ith each additional snarl Igot more and more vindictive. The deathof my first daughter mellowed me some- wh at for a ti me . I wr ot e a coup le o f novels in which love of human nature waslargely a reflex from the fearful storm of

hatred and despair that was wagingside me. 1 knew my life was a ghmess, that 1 was cynical and caustic, the socalled “ frie nds" who m 1 could could be counted on the fingers ofhand— and most o f those would s

wa tc hi ng — th at we go t nothin g in worl d unl ess we fo ug ht for it wi thferocity of a Siberian wolfdog and wi th ou t a do ub t Death ended everyt

Am eric a’ s en tr y into the Worl d found me in the Orient, not at all a heplace for one striving to escape the biical premise for human existence. 1 wi th the Ja pan ese for ces to Si beri a, aas Red I riangle man, consular couand war correspondent through the shevikCzech compaign, and came bathe United States to face a newspbusiness in ruins. The swar ming milof Asia had not confirmed my faitthe conventional A lmi ght y’s goodnes

wi sd om — had ma de me on ly mor e skcal, in fac t— though 1 never had anytbut remorseful tenderness in my hearthe memory of the Man ot Sorrows wh at 1 le ep itom ized in the hu ma n schof things.

lo save my newspaper creditors

loss, 1 went to Hollywood and labamong the Flesh Rots. I made a scomotion pictur es, m ost of them flopcause 1 had a most uncanny facilityroiling the very persons whom 1 shhave made my friends. 1 wrote a coof books which my publishers refusefought with them in consequence, taking life by strong-arm method

wr ot e man y st or ies th at ed itors re je1 fought with them too.

W hen an ed it or wou ld n’ t bu y a cestory 1 sat down to my typewriter contrived to tell him that 1 thoughtan ass. I even told the editor of A m e r i c a n M a g a z i n e that he wa s a— in spite of which he showed his caby taking my opinion as painlessl

possible and going right along buyingpublishing my bet ter submissions. hurt worse than if he had fought with You see, 1 had the unfortunate comthat the attainment of success meaknockdownanddragout scrap. It me a lone wolf at life, getting the leasmangy as I reached my forties.

Time after time 1 tried sincerelcorrect my psychology and get backtain religious (not theological) cues II had lost with the passing of boyh1 plunged deeper than ever into elepound volumes on all sorts of race tand behavi orism. I was a walki ng extion of how a man may reach middleand be the worst internal mess that got into “ Who’s Who ." . . .

IN V IE W of such an autobiograph1 su mm ary , can you see the significof my nocturnal experience?

I went about my bungalow in the that followed as if I were stdl in a sotrance— which veril y I was. Da vs of wi th a qu ee r un re st ga lv an iz in g mfeeling that I was on the verge of sthing, that out of my weird SelfRrotion onto another plane of existenhad brought something that was wor

wi th in me like ye as t.I hen came experience number tw

not quite so theatric and therefore hato describe.

One night while still imbued with

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"feeling” of my fourth dimensional ad 1 ven ture, 1 took down :i volume of Emer-son and opened ir hy chance at his essay on tlie OverS oul. In the middle of it,though not reading any specific line,ipigram, paragraph, or page, I had a•pin r moment of confusion, a sort of cere-bral vertigo, then a strange physical sen-sation at rhe very top of my head as if abeam of pure white light had poured downfrom above and bored a shaft straightinto my skull. In that instant a vast weight we nt ou t o f my wh ole ph ys ic alensemble. A veil was torn awa y.

I saw no “ vis ion." hut something hadhappened and was continuing to happen. A cascade of pure , cool, wo nd erf ul peac e w a s falling down from somewhere abovein* and cleans ing me. M y hook fell frommy lingers to the tug and stayed there,i sat there staring into space.

/' :: as not the same man I h ad been a moment before!

1 mean this physically, mentally, spiritually. I knew that somehow I hadacquired senses and perceptions that 1coiiUI never hope to describe to any secondp e r s o n , and yet they were as real to me as

ilu shape of my wrists. For a time 1 wondered if “ much learni ng had dr iv enin* ma d, ” but then 1 recalled tha t reall y niad people never question whether or notthey re mad. Ne xt, 1 was aware of some-thing new and strange and different fromany riling in my whole experience—

I here was someone in that darke ningroom with me besides Laska , mv dog. Infact. I was aware that several living, vi-brant personalities were with me in thatroom. Las ka sat up, cocked her headfrom side to side, and wagged her tail atsum* of them— at nothing—apparently—on* of them, in particular, standing by my wisk at the nor th end o f the room. An d vet I wa s not m the sl ightes t afra id . Why in a|iai d of our frie nds? . . .

l?s ALL of my life up to that time 1 had* in ver seen a ghost , neve r had mo re than

an academic interest in psychic phenom-ena. I had nor invited any of these expiriinces that 1 knew of. Th ey hadsimply come to me.

V» hat reall y' had ha pp en ed wa s, I had 'i.i'ii red hidden powe rs u-ithin my sel f that I

riiu-c every human being possesses, and had augmented my five physical senses zrilh ntiier senses just as bona tide, legitimate,

atural as touch, taste, smell, sight, a.•• raring. \ hat 1 had help in unlock-ing those hidden powers I do not deny.N< \ i rtheless, not hin g had happ ened tonu iiv.it has not hap pene d to hun dre ds of other people, hut only very rarel y do

tin \ talk about ir.\\ hat those hidden powers are. and why j

i maintain that they are bona fide, legilim.ue, and natural I shall have to leave. ,Ibii they had suddenly shown me thatlift is not at all the ordina ry, humdr um.rhiiTmealsaday thing that I had alwaysaccepted. Its essence or its mean ing isso vast and fine and high and beautifulthat it overwhelmed me, and a recogni-tion of it performed a sort of recreation inin* Uiat made me feel 1 was actually not the same fellow I had been just before.

My desire to explain what I mean bv this is almost an ache within me at thismoment. Bu t, for some uncanny reason,•vnrds are not the medium to convev it. 1nought doesn’t c o n v e y i t . Feeling

Pitifully Scalded

I t may be your chi l d tomorrow In the midst of play, a heart-rending cry! A child’s bodyhideously burned . . . pitiful hours of pain. And always—the danger of frightful scars.

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N o w — U n g u e n tin e S o a p, to o . B l a n d a n ds o o t h i n g . I t r a p i d l y c le a r s u p t h e b l e m i s h e dc o m p l e x i o n p a r t i c u l a r l y w h e n h u m s , c u t s o rb r u i s e s h a v e l e f t t h e s k i n i r r i ta t e d a n d s e n s i t i v e .

“ La s t Chr i s t m a s m y 3 -ye a r -o ld s o n c l im b e d u p t os m e l l a p a n o f ho t s o u p o n t he s t o ve . The c ha i rslipped and down he came, scalding soup and all . . .1 a p p l ie d U ngu e nt i ne f r e e l y . . . The do c t o r s a id ,'Yo u c o u l dn ' t ha ve do ne b e t t e r . ’ ”

* *•'The boys had l i t a bonfire, when suddenly Sidney,the yo ung est , fel l . A passer-by rolled him in hisoverc oat , saving his l i fe . We used Unguen tine freely. . . his left side was horrib ly burned . Now the re is

even a scar ."



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doesn’t convey it. The “ me" that is theBillPelley identity can convey it only by being, and the fact that I ant gets it to

yo u.Is that last a nonsensical statement?

We ll , I ho pe I ’ m no t cr ac ke d. Al l 1 cansay is, that I know by experience thatthere is a great, overpowering existenceoutside of what we cal l Li fe— that I havehcen in it and fe lt it— that havin g been init has endowed me with certain capacities

that have transformed my whole conceptof the universe and, some of my friendsare kind enough to add, have transformedme— physica lly as well as mentally andspiritually.

M Y F I R S T dra m at ic ph ys ic al re ac ti on wa s a su dden ch an ge in th e co mp o-

nents of my body. I discovered thatmiraculously I had lost my "nerves."

Ever since childhood I had lived un-der such a tremendous nervous tensionthat it had kept me under weight, put linesin my face and an edge on my voice, shat-tered me psychologically so that opposi-tion of any kind in furiated me and mademe want to crash through it like an arm y tank flattening our a breastworks. At -

tacks o f nervous indigestion were so com-mon that I no longer gave them thought.

Suddenly all this had departed,1 was peaceful inside.

An d the ch an ge soon be ga n to ma ni fe stitself in concre te form. One day in my office 1 took a package o f cigarettes frommy desk. About to app ly a light to oneof them, I heard a voice say as gently as any worried mother might caution a careless son, “ Oh, Bi l l, g ive up your cigarettes ! ” An d ev en be fo re it ha d oc cu rr ed to me th atno one was present in the flesh to addressme thus audibly, 1 answered : “ Al l r ight ! ”and tossed the package into the nearby

w as te bas ke t. I we nt all th at day wi th ou tsmoking. Nex t morning, again, I reachedfor my tobacco tin across on my desk to

load up my corncob. It w as knocked from my hands with a slap that tossed it upward in the air and deposited it bottom upward at my feet with the tobacco spilled out. N ocautioning this time. But 1 knew!

1 haven't smoked tobacco in any formfrom that day to the present—this aftertwenty years of smoking a dozen cigars aday, lighting one from the butt o f theother. Moreo ver, I have n’t bad the slight-est ill effect nor did 1 go through the ago-nizing torture of “ breaking off ." I justdidn't smoke any more—didn’t have thenervous urge—didn’t even give tobaccoa thought.

The same strange' prohibition seemedto shut down on coffee, tea, alcohol, andmeats. 1 endured not the slightest dis-

tress in givin g these items up. 1 hey simply ceased to exist for me. And, inve rs el y, a st ra ng e ne w se ns at io n be gan tomanifest itself in my muscles and organs.

1 had the glorious feeling of physicaldetachment from the handicaps of bodily matter. No form of bodily exercise seemedto take energy that I had consciously to

; supply. I had always been sl ightly stoop■ shouldered. Without any unusual exer-

cise, my spine straightened of itself, so tospeak.

Al on g wit h th is ph ys ic al ph en om en on wen t th e un ex pl ai na bl e fa cul ty o f wit h-standing fatigue. I f I wearied myself by prolonged phys ical labor, it was thehealthy weariness of boyhood that over-

took me, and a sound nig ht’s sleep wrougcomplete readjustmen t. On the othand, 1 found I could sit at my typ

wr it er tw el ve ho urs at a st re tc h, if necsary, with hardly a muscle protestinI had suffered consistently from insomnever since a period in my twenties whI worked as police reporter on a morninews paper . Now I went to bed andsleep.

\\ ith this physic al a lteratio n came

different feeling toward those around mI his perh aps was the most astound

afterm ath of the whole adventure. Ctainly it appeared to have convinced mfriends that some extraordinary thing hoccurre d, since ir drama tized m y rejunation, so to speak, and g ave them somthing to perceive with their senses.

I discovered, for instance, that couldn’t show any more nervous bellicity to those with whom I came dailycont act. 1 recall specificall y that just fore my strange experience 1 bad maan unfortunate investment in a chain we ster n re st au ra nt s. I was st ri vi ng wi th dr aw wi th mi ni mu m loss . Lobanks and bankers had refused ro comemy assistance in order to lubricate

situation and help hold the proposititogether till a purchaser more/Competein the food business than my sel f shobe procured. 1 subm it that 1 had evchance to he incensed at them for nassis ting me, for my bank account had into thousands upon thousands of dolland the conventional banking advice aaid at the right moment would have mathe whole commercial ordeal only a paing incident.

O L \ months before 1 would have bso fighting mad that my hatred of t

sort of treatment and my loathing "bloated capitalists who showed theselves only fairweather friends” wouhave made me physically ill. In fac

form erly prided m yse lf on being a gohater. But somehow, worried thoug

wa s, 1 ha dn ’ t th e sl ight es t ill wi ll towthese banking people, and 1 went aheand pulled my proposition out of the h

wi th ou t th ei r fi nanc ia l aid . And , in ve rs el y, wh en th e si tuat

came to the surface and others heardthe fight I was making, I was ov wh el me d by th ei r ma nif es ta ti on s o f g wi ll an d th ei r pr ac ti ca l as si st an ce . the first time in my experience peo we re go in g ou t of th ei r w a y to per foservices for me, to counsel me, to seek society, to make me and my problems wi th th em se lv es — ye s. ev en to of fer unsolicited loans. I think this amazed more than the strangeness of my physi

rebirth. At first 1 thought it might hsomething to do with a resentment thpersons held toward the bankers who abandoned me just the moment a closhowed on m y horizon. 1 thought tmight be acting in a sort of sympathy anursing their own barked knuckles. TI became aware that some of them hadheard of my predicament, and that startme. Wha t on earth had gotten into fthat they w ere so interested in me andactivities?

1 came through to New ^ ork so we ek s la te r to me nd li te ra ry fences renew some sagging editorial acquaances. I was not at all prepared for attention I got. It had never happene



e before. 1 was utte rly at a loss. I dis-overed that some sort of invisible walletween me and the rest of the world hadeen razed.

it is embarrassing to dilate on thisate of affairs and the altered sociallations maintaining now with friends

h o we re fo rm er ly on ly ac qu ai nt an ce s.An d y et— de ep down un de rn ea th it allfrom the ve ry first I have had instinc-

ve understanding. And that under-anding has been growing in clarity ery day and hour since that epochalght in the bungalow.I must concede that it increasingly mprises many factors and revelations

h ic h I am constr ained fr om re po rt in g.ill, there are conclusions and equationsmay draw that have a universality of

pplication.

W IIAT is tltfs thing which happenedto me, and why did it happen?

First, 1 believe my subconscious hun-r after what the Bible terms “ the thingsthe Spirit” — that is, the sincere desirepenetrate behind the mediocrity of

reemealsaday living and ascertainh at m ys te ry lies behi nd th is Go lg ot ha

Existence—attracted to me spiritualrces of a very high and altruistic order,

ho aided me in ma ki ng a hv pe rd im en onal visit ation. 1 believe such hungerll a lw ay s att ra ct such for ces .Second, it goes without saying thatving made such a visitation and hav-g had certain questions concretely an-

wered by those I confronted in thatmension, my subconscious (or for thatatter conscious) knowledge of what the

ourth Dimension is, and means, andh at ca n be done wi th in its ar ea , un de r-ok to operate first upon my physical

ody and to bring about the rejuvenationhi ch su bs eq ue nt ly ca me to me. An d

t 1 can no more explain the Fourthimension with words than 1 can convey

a man blind from birth the redness of e color red. I know wha t it is mysel f,1 know wh at re dness is. 1 can see howinterpenetrates Matter, constituting

e “ inside” of it, so to speak, and howojections from it must come out the re-rse of w hat we kn ow th em on th e ph ys i-l plane. But I can no more make ittelligible to the average reader thannstein can explain Relativity to a groupmen in a sm oking car, all o f them

nfamiliar with advanced mathematics.1 hird, these experiences immedi ately

vealed to me that there is a world of ubliminal or spiritual existence, inter-

enetrating the ordinary world in whichost of us exist as ordinary twoleggedme ric ans ful l o f ac hes and worr ie s, an d at this sub lim ina l zoo rid is the re al w orld —

he world of “ stern realit y” if you will;hat it is waiting for the race to learn of itnd “ tap ” its beneficent resources, with -ut waiting for what we call physicaleath; that our “ dead ” d ear ones are ex-tent in it— alive, h ap py, conscious, andait ing fo r us to jo in th em , ei th er ateath or any time we reach that stage of pirituality where we can make contactith them.1 have seen my own there and have

sited wi th th em !Understand thoroughly— I am not a

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anyone to anything. I’m simply telling you th at so meth in g ha ppen ed to me which wa s not consci ou sl y se lf i nv it ed ; th at my friends attest to an even greater altera-tion’s having taken place in my personality than I am capable of feeling from within.

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spirit, but in many of them this desire hasbeen so embalmed wirh the poisons of

wo rr y, do ub t, fl eshl y des ire , st ru gg le to at-tain the wherew ithal for p hysical sur- vi va l, th at fo r all pr ac ti ca l purpos es it nolonger exists.

But the dav is coming in the evolutionof rhe race when spirituality is going tohe the whole essence of life, instead of the world’s present materialism. Hereand there have always been those who, by their unusual visions, selfinvited or other-

wis e, might be ca lle d monitors for the restof u s—showing us what we ail may attainif we so order our lives and thinking as tobe susceptible to such revelations.

I believe that Nature — God L niversal.Spirir—give the Great Cause any name

you wil l— is ta ki ng this me thod of con-ferring unusual experiences upon these‘‘ monitors, ” to give rhe whole race aninspiration by which it may quicken itsS p i r i t u a l pace. I here is nothi ng any moreprohibitive, morally or ethically, to ex-

ploration of these new great Fields Real Reality than to exploration of tfields of radio or atomic energy. In farhe Great Cause intends that we shallplore them.

At any rate , wh et he r I am right wro ng , I know th at for a limit ed time night last year out in California my spiual entity left my body and went som

where — a concr et e place where I cotalk, walk about, feel, and see; where

swers were returned to questions dressed to physically dead people, whhave checked up in the waking world aclarified for me the riddle of earthly istence.

I know there is no Death because,a manner of speak ing, I went through, process of dying, came back into my b«»and took up the burden of earthly livagai n. I know that the experien ce metamorphosed rhe cantankerous Ymum Yankee that was once Bill Felland launched him into a wholly differuniverse that seems tilled with naugbut love, harmony, health, good humand prosperity.

What ’ s the an sw er to I k a l i' 1 here is no answer, except that it m

he accepted as inevitably as I am forcedaccept the awareness of my own entI kiiour because I experienced .

Further deponenr sayeth nor!

Do Y O L K N O W HOW to a p p l y for a job? Can you write a letter oappli catio n th at will get results ? Do you kn ow how to mak e the bestof yourself if an interview is granted? These and m a n y other questions pertinent to the always interestin g subje ct of getting a job arecovered next month in an article by Albert Edward Wiggam. Ev e r y ye ar m ore th an on e m il li on yo u n g fo lk s are re ad y to m ake th eifirst venture in self-support. Here’s something to help them; here’ssom eth ing , too, to help the older folks who are looking for bigger chanc es

Can You Say “No”?(Continued from page j/ )

following week another alumnus recom-mended me to rhe secretary of rheMerchants’ Association, and wirh thatmy career as a bright and promising New'l orker was started.

‘T looked over rhe city carefully beforechoosing mv apartment, and selected apart of town inhabited by the rich and in-fluential. I attended a successful church,and put my name up for membership inrhe I niversitv Club. At election time I

| got out and worked. I spoke from soapboxes (there is alwa ys a dearth of speakers)

| and rang doorbells. I started at the bottom

of rhe organization and did rhe dirrv work;I and when I had served three years I| thought I was entitled to recognition, so I! braced rhe district leader for the nomina-

tion to the Assembly, and he let me have

i ' r -Ile paused and looked at me quizzically." 1 suppose that when you write inter

{ views with successful men they are notusually as frank as this, he said.

I “ N ot o f te n .” I a ns we re d. ” 1 hev d on’ t; usually take the public quite so far behind

j the scenes, or show quite as much of themachinery.”

” 1 don’t want you ro think that I wasa binder or merely a selladvertiser, or asnob ,” he said earnestl y. ‘‘ I did go our

deliberate!v to make the right sort of

friends, and I did beat the tomtom in fiof my tent whenever occasion offerBu t I worked. Lor d, how I worked thfirst ten vear s! And the work had its

wa rd . At fo rt y I was a pa rt ne r in a ficlass firm. 1 had a beau tifu l wife and splendid children, a house in rhe counand a house in tow n. I was an exmemof the State Senate, entitled to be dressed as ‘Se nat or’ the rest of my And I wa s a we ll k nown figure in N York . Who coul d poss ib ly ask for m a YYhere wa s the we ak spot in my si tu at iHow could such a nice jar of ointm

possibly hold a fly?”I hat’ s exactly what I’d like to kno

I said. ‘ ‘ Y ou seemed to have everythin the world, and suddenly you up aleft. \\ here wa s rhe fly?”

T I E WA S silent for several minutes, p* * m g har d on his cig ar. I ben be gotand walked over to rhe bookcase and rdow n a big book. He laid it out on table, and I saw it was a sort of combtion diary and scrapbook— big pafilled with notes, typewritten memoraninvitations, programs, and so on.

l he fly was just this,” he sai d: “ 1 started something that I couldn’t stop was like th at fe ll ow who bui lt a mon

out of bones and so lorth from a chm



March, IQ2Q

^American1 V . M ag azi n e


Seven M i nutes i n Eterni t y—


IsAade Me Oi er

IN THE Sierra Madre Mountains, near Pasadena. California, I own a bungalow.When I want seclusion in order to complete a knotty job

of writing, I lay in a stock of provisions, bid adieu to acquaintances,motor up to this hide-away, and,work there undisturbed. My onlycompanion is Laska, a tawnv policedog.

in the month of April, 1928, Iwas living in this bungalow while.writing a novel. 1 he work had gonewell and was nearing completion.I was untroubled mentally, feelingphysically fit, writing six to eighthours a day, with plenty of evening recreation.£ One night toward the last of themonth I returned around ten o’clockand lay reading in bed till midnight.The book had nothing to do, I amconvinced, with what subsequentlyhappened. It was a ponderous volume on ethnology, a subject that is•omething of a hobby with me. Ifelt drowsy around midnight, laid

the volume aside, pulled off myglasses, and extinguished the bed-•amp. I had gone through a similarroutine on a hundred other evenings; the day had been no differentfrom a hundred other writing days

in the bungalow.My sleeping chamber was located

.*t the back of the house and wasPerfectly ventilated, with two casement windows opening toward thero°untains. Laska curled on theUoor at the foot of my bed— hera5cust°med sleeping place— andthat she did not externally motivatethe phenomena in any way, I amPositive. When it ended, and I was

ack in my body, I stumbled from

B y W i l l i a m D u d l e y P e l l e y

"M T O T long ago William Dudley Pelley

—^ came into the office of T h e A m e r i-c a n M a g a z i n e , after an absence of morethan a year.

“Man, what’s happened to you?” askedthe editor. “Y ou're looking incrediblybette r than you did the last time I saw you .”

“You’ve never seen me before,” replied

Mr. Pelley.


“I mean that the fellow who is standingbefore you now is a new Bill Pelley— sonew that he’s only about one year old. I ’ve

had an experience ”

On the strength of that conversationM r. Pelley was asked to write about hisgreat adventure. Neither the editor norany members of the staff knew what trans

forming experience the author had beenthrough, but it was evident to all that hehad greatly changed, both in appearanceand in manner. The accompanying article

is the intimate account of his “re-birth.”It will surprise and interest you as muchas it surprised and interested the staff of

T h e A m e r ic a n M a g a z i n e . The Editor.


I do not recall having any specific dreams the first half of thenight, no physical distress, certainlyno insomnia. Ordinarily, I do notuse liquor and I had none on thepremises or in my system on thisnight in question. For twenty

years I had consumed from a dozento twenty cigars daily and smokedmy pipe constantly over the typewriter. But I had never observedany derogatory effects from suchindulgence and was no more distressed than usual from this particular day’s consumption of nicotine.

J 3 UT between three and four in■*-' the morning—the time laterverified—a ghastly inner shriekseemed to tear through my somnolent consciousness. In despairinghorror I wailed to myself:

“ I ’m dying! I ’ m dying!” What told me, I don’t know.

Some uncanny instinct had beenunleashed in slumber to awakenand apprise me. Certainly something was happening to me—something that had never happeneddown all my days—a physical sensation which I can best describe asa combination of heart attack andapoplexy.

Mind you, I say physical sensation. This was not a dream. I wasfully awake, and yet I was not. Iknew that something had happenedeither to my heart or head—or both—and that my conscious identitywas at the play of forces over whichit had no control. I was awake,

mind you, and whereas I had been



on a bed in the shadowy dark of a California bungalow wben the phenomenonstarted, the next moment I was plungingdown a mystic depth o f cool, blue space,with a sinking sensation like that which attends the taking of ether as an anesthetic.Queer noises were singing in my ears.Over and over in a curiously tumbledbrain the thought was preeminent:

“ So this is death?”

I AVER that in the interval between myseizure and the end of my plunge, I

was sufficiently possessed of my physical

senses to think: “ My dead body may liein this lonely house for days before anyone discovers it—unless Laska breaks outand brings aid.”

Why I should think that, I don’t know—or what difference it would-have madeto me, being the lifeless “remains”—butI remember thinking the thought as distinctly as any thought I ever originatedconsciously and put on paper in the practice of mv vocation.

Next , I was whirling madly. Once in1920 over San Francisco an airplane inwhich I was passenger went into a tailspin and we almost fell into the GoldenGate. That feeling! Someone reachedout, caught me, stopped me. A calm,

clear, friendly voice said, close to my ear:“ Tak e it easy, old man. Don’t bealarmed. You’re all right. We’re here tohelp you.”

Someone had hold of me, I said—twopersons in fact—one with a hand underthe back of my neck, supporting myweight, the other with arm run under myknees. I was physically flaccid from my“tumble” and unable to open my eyes asyet because of the sting of queer, opallight that diffused the place into which Ihad come.

When. I finally managed it, I becameconscious that 1 had been borne to abeautiful marble-slab pallet and laid nudeupon it by two strong-bodied, kindly-faced young men in white uniforms notunlike those worn by internes in hospitals,who were secretly amused at my confusion and chagrin.

“ Feeling be tte r:” the taller of the twoasked considerately, as physical strengthto sit up unaided came to me and I tooknote of my surroundings.

“ Ye s,” I stammered. “ Where am I? ”They exchanged good-humored glances.They never answered my question.They did not need to answer my ques

tion. It was superfluous. I knew whathad happened. I had left my earthlybody on a bungalow bed in the Californiamountains. / had gone through all the sensations of dying, and whether this wasthe Hereafter or an intermediate station,most emphatically I had reached a placeand state which had never been duplicated in all my experience.

I say this because of the inexpressibleecstasy of my new state, both mental andphysical.

For I had carried some sort of body intothat new environment with me. I knewtha t it was nude. It had been capableof feeling the cool, steadying pressureof my friends’ hands before my eyesopened. And now that I had reawakenedwithout the slightest distress or harm, Iwas conscious of a beauty and lovelinessof environment that surpasses chronicling on printed paper.

A sort of marble-tiled-and-furnishedportico the place was, lighted by that soft,unseen, opal illumination, with a clear-as-crvstal Roman pool diagonally acrossfrom the bench on which I remained for atime, striving to credit that all this wasreal. Out beyond the portico everythingappeared to exist in a sort of turquoisehaze. . . .

I looked from this vista back to thetwo friends who had received me. Therewere no other persons anywhere in evidence in the Hrst half of my experience.

Somehow I knew those two men—

knew them as intimately as I knew the reflection of my own features in a mirror.And yet something about them, theirvirility, their physical “glow,” theirstrong and friendly personality sublimated, as it were, kept me from instantidentification.

And they knew a good joke about me.T hey continued to watch me, with a smilein their eyes, when I got down from mymarble bench and moved about the portico till I came to the edge of the pool.

“ Bathe in it ,” came the instruction.“ You’ll find you’ll enjoy it.”

I went down the steps into delightfulwater. And here is one of the strangestincidents of the whole “adventure” . . .

when I came up from that bath I was nolonger conscious that I was nude. On theother hand,, neither was I conscious ofhaving donned clothes. The bath didsomething to me in the way of clothingme. What, I don’t know.

But immediately I came up garbed,somehow, by the magic contact of thewa-^jr, people began coming into the patio,crossing over it and going down the southern steps and off" into the inexpressible

jturquoise. As .they passed me, they castcuriously amused glances at me. And everybody nodded and spoke to me. Theyhad a kindness, a courtesy, a friendliness,in their faces and addresses that quiteoverwhelmed me. Think of all the saintly,attractive, magnetic folk you know, imagine them constituting the whole socialworld—no misfits, no tense countenances,no sour leers, no preoccupied brusquenessor physical handicap— and the whole environment of life permeated with an ecstatic harmony as universal as air, andyou get an idea of my reflexes in those moments. I recall exclaiming to myself:

“ How happy everybody seems!—how jolly ! Every individual here conveyssomething that makes me want to knowhim personally.” Then, with a sense ofshock, it dawned upon me: “ I have known every one of these people at some time or other, personally, intimately! But they aresublimated now—physically glorified—not as I knew them in life at all.”

I CANNOT make anyone understandhow natural it all seemed that I should

be there. After that first presentment ofdying—which experience had ended inthe most kindly ministration—all terrorand strangeness left me and I had neverfelt more alive. It never occurred to methat I was in “heaven,” or, if it did, it occasioned me no more astonishment thatI should be there than when, at someperiod of my mundane consciousness, ithad occurred to me that I was on “earth.”. . . After all, do we know much moreabout the one than the other:

I had simply ended a queer voyage

through bluish void and found myself ina charming place anjong jolly, worthwhile people who saw in me somethingthat amused them to the point of quietlaughter. Yet not a laughter that I couldresent. I had no mad obsession to go offat once in search of Deity or look upAbraham Lincoln or Julius Ca:sar. I wasquite content to stroll timidlv in the vicinity of the portico by which I had enteredthis harmonious place and be greetedwith pleasant nods by persons whose individualities were uncannily familiar.

They were conventionally garbed, these

persons, both men and women. I recallquite plainly that the latter wore hats.I can see with perfect clarity in my mind’seve the outline of the millinery worn by adignified elderly lady at whose deathbed I had been present in Sioux City, Iowa, in

19 23 . The big, broad-shouldered, blue-eved fellow in white duck who had firstreceived me, with his hand beneath thenape of my neck, always hovered in myvicinity, I recall, and kept an eye on mywhereabouts and deportment. . . .

T PLEDGE my reputation that I talkedwith these people, identified many of

them, called the others by their wrongnames and was corrected, saw and did

things that night almost a year ago that itis verboten for me to narrate in a magazinearticle, but which I recall with a minuteness of detail as graphic to me as the keysof my typewriter are now, under my fingers. Regardless of the fact that imagination is the chief asset in one of my vocation, I am not given to particularlygraphicdreams. Certainly, we neverdreamby the process of coming awake first,knowing that we are suffering some kindof heart or head attack, swooning, andcoming abruptly conscious again in thearms of two kindly persons who reassureus audibly that everything is quite allright. Nor do the impressions of a dreamso stay with us—at least they have neverso stayed with me—that after a year suchan experience is as vivid as many of my experiences in Siberia during the late WorldWar.

I went somewhere, penetrated to adistinct place, and had an actual, concrete experience. I found myself an existing entity in a locality where persons Ihad always called.“dead” were not deadat all. They were very much alive.

The termination of this journey—myexit so to speak—was as peculiar as myadvent.

I was wandering alone about the porticoI have described, with most of my recognizable friends gone out of it for the moment, when I was caught in a swirl ofbluish vapor that seemed to roll in fromnowhere in particular. Instead of plunging prone I was lifted or levitated. Up,up, up I seemed to tumble, feet first , despite the ludicrousness of the description.A long, swift, swirling journey of this.And then something clicked—somethingin my body. The best analogy is thesound my repeating deer-rifle makeswhen I work the ejector mechanism—aflat, metallic, automatic sensation.

Next, I was sitting up in bed in myphysical body again, as wide awake as Iam at this moment, staring at the patchof window where the moon was goingdown, with a reflex of physical exhaustionthrough my chest, diaphragm, and abdo-



that lasted several moments. Notdigestive distress, you understand;ly a great weariness in my torso as if

d passed through a tremendous physirdeal and my heart must accelerateake up the lost energy.hat wasn’t a dream!” I cried aloud.

d my voice awoke Laska, who straightto her haunches.

ere was no more slumber for me thatt. I lay back finally with the whole exnce fresh in my senses but an awfulntation in my heart that I was forcedme back at all—back into a world of

ggle and disappointment, turmoil andnterpretation, to an existence of bill

William Dudley Pelley

collectors, unfriendly bankers, capriciouseditors, and caustic critics—to all the mental and physical aches and pains whichcombine with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune to make of this EarthPlane a Vale of Tears.

It was tragedy, the coming back.Call it the Hereafter, call it Heaven,

call it Purgatory, call it the Astral Plane,call it the Fourth Dimension, call it WhatYou Will. V hatevfer it is—and where—that human entities go after being released from physical limitations, I hadgone there that night. An d. like Lazarusof old, I had been called back—back tothe anguish (in comparison) of physi

cal existence to finish out my time in theconventional manner. L p to the momentof writing this article almost a year later,I have had not the slightest indication toward a repetition of the episode. DreamsI have had, and occasionally a fine, old-fashioned nightmare, but I have knownthem for such. Somehow or other, insleep that night, I unhooked something inthe strange mechanism that is Spirit inMatter, and for from seven to ten minutes mv own conscious entity that is BillPelley, writing-man. slipped o x e r to theOther Side.

There is a jur fiea l ,j human maty alter death m the hutiy, (('.mu i n nea a paye iy g)

U



operate an efficient and regular service.“ Flying is really safe, when the proper

safeguards are taken. Isn’ t that true of

almost anything else?“ As for speed, the contrast between

flying and any other means of transpor-tation is incredible. It takes twent y hoursto go to Chicago from New York by fasttrain; by plane it is possible to travel thatdistance in nine hburs. Indeed, the newmodels of highpowered commercial shipswill be ab le to do it in six hours . T h a t ’ swh y business men tr ave l mor e fr eq uent ly by plane nowadays; why national organi-

zations are buying planes to transportgoods to all corners of the country. Timeis what we t ry to sa ve more than anythin g

else.“ And you should have been here last

Sunday. We took up more than five hun-dred passenge rs. Some whole families—father, mother, and children—went uptogether. The n they would ask if they might be allowed to line up beside theplane and have their picture taken. Isuppose they’re mighty proud of thosepictures now. Bu t in ten years flying willoe an old story with a good man v of these

folks.”

AS THE GREAT WAR recedes and becomes history, more and m ore facts about the part that America played in it com e to light. Next mon th, in “How We Kept Tabs on the German Army,” you will iearn about the inside workings of our Secret Sendee during th^ stupen dous conflict. A fascinating article with all the lure of a detective or mystery story!

Seven Minutes in

Eternity

(Continued from page p)

for I have seen and talked intelligently with friends whom I had looked down upon as cold wax in caskets.

But that is not all. There is plenty of aftermath. To d escribe the effects of theexperience, however, it is necessary to in-trude a few personal confidences, none of which I am ea ge r to make .

I brought something back with mefrom that Ec stat ic Interlude— somethingthat had interpenetrated my physical self and which suddenly began to function instrange powers of perception.

I was bom the only son of an itinerantMethodist preacher. Soon after my birthmy parents began that old-fashionedOdyssey of traveling from “call” to “call”in the northern Massachusetts back hills.

Orthodox Prot estant theology, as it wasforty years ago, was far more plentifulin my father’s household than bread, but-ter, clothes, and fuel. Ca mp meetings andquarterly conferences, the higher criticism,predestination, free will and election, in-fant damnation, hell fire, and the day °f judgment constituted the householdinve rse in my young and “ tender” years.0°d early shaped up to me as a weirdtombination of heavenly Moloch and sub-limated Overseer of the Poor.

Paiish poverty forced mv father from[She ministry, but w ith grim New Englan d

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Miss I r l n i ; A n d l r s ,

7 Hemphill Street, Fort Worth, Texas



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rmur Ik sau to it tli.it Ins relinquishmentof ;i pulpit did not lessen my surfeit olconventional theology. I liree times tochurch on rile Sabbath day and twice dur-ing the week— I uesday evening elassmeeting and Thursd ay evening prayermeeting— left me small opportun ity toforget my Maker and the gratitude Iowed Him. Jus t what this gratitude wasowed I Inn Ja r troubled mv small soul ex-ceedingly in those farotf years, becauseI found mvse lf created a p erpetua lly hungry, shabbily dressed, and nonetooliappv youngster who had to start his life

labor at fourteen years of age and stay wi th it th er ea ft er , ev en to the present.

IN THE years between fourteen andtwentvtwo I became a smoldering

yo un g Bo ls he vi k ag ai ns t eve ry kind of authority— particularly against religious aurhonty which had apparently sanctionedthese injustices against me— and by pick-ing up the rudiments o f a denied educationthrough promiscuous reading, I went taraheld from accredited Christianity.

No need to clutter up this article witha list of the books I read, but at twentytwo, in a little town in northern NewS ork, I was publishing a brochure maga-zine of heretical leanings. I had discos ered

myself possessed of a certain facility withiconoclastic language, and the courage of my ignorance. Fresh from a w ry, lonely,misunderstood childhood, cluttered up»psychologically with the worst sort otNew England inhibitions, revengeful thatI had been denied social and academicadvantages for which my hunger was in-stinctive, 1 proceeded to play a lone handand make tilings hot for several godly people whose only indictment was thatthey represented Authority as aforesaid—and especially spiritual.

On maturer perspective I see that Ishould have been spanked—or educated—but all the theological misfits m fortyeight stares and a couple of foreign

countries were soon buying my magazine,and mv twaddle was piling up to give memuch heartache later when I came to seethat I took out on Clod what 1 should havetaken out on an inhibited environment.

I he Almigh ty stood the onslaughtj pret ty well, however. 1 got into news-

paper work, and marriage, and father-hood, and more poverty, and that was the

I last of the heretical magazine, though not! of its ow ner s theological complexes. I

shopped around in my religions. I read[ still queerer books. And inevitably the

dav came when immature intelligencecouldn' t stand this food and instead of digesting it, 1 ejected it a la mal de mer. . . . For ten year s I was one of the worst

agnostics that ever had books come to bispostotticc box in plain wrappers fromfreak publishing bouses.

I bad brains enough to see that my lifebad been started all wrong and was "get-ting no better fast.” but bad not theacademic or social equipment to alterexistence and start myself aboutface.

Those were cruel, cruel yea rs— lookingback on them now. A couple of my busi-ness project s went to whack . So did my marriage. With each additional snarl 1got more and more vindic tive. 1 he death

| of my first daughter mellowed me some■ what for a time. I wrote a couple of

novels in w hich love of human nature waslargely a reflex from the fearful storm of

hatred and despair that was wagingside me. I knew my life was a ghamess, that I was cynical and caustic, tthe socalled "friends” whom 1 could tcould he counted on the Angers of hand—and most of those would st

wa tc hing — th at we got no th in g in world unle ss we fo ught for it wit h ferocity of a Siberian wolfdog and t

wi th out a do ub t Death ended everyth Am er ica' s en tr y into th e Wor ld

found me in the Orient, not at all a heaplace for one striving to escape the bioical premise for human exist ence . I w

wit h the Ja pa ne se for ces to Si beri a, aas Red Triangle man, consular couand war correspondent through the slievikC/.ech compaign, and came bacthe United States to face a newspbusiness in ruins. The sw arm ing millof Asia had not confirmed my faiththe conventional Alm ight y’s goodness

wi sd om — bad made me on ly mor e skecal, in fact— though I never bad anythbut remorseful tenderness in my heartthe memory of the Man of Sorrows

wh at He ep itom ized in th e hu man schof things.

To save my newspaper creditors floss, I went to Hollywood and laboamong the Fles h Pots. I made a sco

motion pictures, most of them flopscause 1 had a most uncanny facilityroiling the very persons whom I shhave made my friends. I wrot e a coof books which my publishers refusefought with them in consequence, taking life by strongarm methods

wr ote man y stor ie s tha t ed itors rejecI fought with them too.

When an ed itor wou ld n’ t buy a cerstory 1 sat down to my typewriter contrived to tell him that I thought a n ass. 1 even told the editor of A m e r i c a n M a g a z i n e that he was an— in spite of which he showed his cabv taking my opinion as painlesslypossible and going right along buying

publishing my better submissions. Thurt worse than if he had fought with'I ou see, I had the unfort unat e comthat the attainm ent of success meaknockdownanddragou t scrap. It mme a lone wolf at life, getting the leasmangy as I reached my forties.

I ime afte r time I tried sincerelycorrect my psychology and get back tain religious (not theological) cues II bad lost with the passing of boyhI plunged deeper than ever into elepound volumes on all sorts of race tand behaviorism. I was a walk ing exption of how a man may reach middleand be the worst internal mess that got into “ Who ’s Who .” . . .

TN V IE W of such an autobiograph* summary, can you see the significaof my nocturnal experience?

I went about mv bungalow in the that followed as if I were still in a sotrance— which veri ly I was. Da ys of wi th a qu ee r un rest gal van iz in g mfeeling that I was on the verge of sothing, that out of my weird SelfProtion onto another plane of existenhad brought something that was wor

wi th in me like ye as t.1 hen came experience number tw

not quite so theatric and therefore hato describe.

One night while still imbued with



^ te eiin fi o f m v t o u r t l i d i m e n s io n a l , u l-

enture. I took down :i volume of Im ih t - on and opened it by chance at bis essay n the OverSoul . In the middle of it,hough not reading any specific line,pigram, paragraph, or page, I had aueer moment of confusion, a sort of cere-ral vertigo, then a strange physical senation at the very rop of my head as if aeam of pure white light had poured down

rom above and bored a shaft straightnto mv skull. !n that instant a vast

weight went out of my whole physicalnsemble. A veil was torn away .

I saw no "vision," but something had

appened and wa s continuing to happen.A cascade of pure, cool, wonderful peace was fa ll ing down from somewhere ab ov eme and clea nsing me. i\lv book fell frommy fingers to the rug and stayed there.

sat there staring into space.

I was nut the same man I had been a mo- j

ment before!

I mean this physically, mentally, spir Tually. I knew that somehow I had

cquired senses and perceptions that Iould never hope to describe to any seconderson, and yet they were as real to me ashe shape of my wrists. For a time I !onder ed if “ muc h learning had dr iv en

me mad,” but then I recalled that really mad people never question \\ hether or not

hey’ re mad. Next, I was aware of some-hing new and strange and different from Inything m my whole experience—There was someone in that darkening j

oom with me besides Las ka, m y dog. In iact, I was aware that several living, vi-rant personalities were with me in thatoom. Las ka sat up, cocked her headom side to side, and wagged her tail at

ome of them— at nothing—apparently—ne of them, in particular, standing by my esk at the north end of the room. Andet I was not in th e sl igh test af raid . W hv e afraid of our friends? . . .

N A LL of my life up to that time I hadneve r seen a ghost, never had more than

n academic interest in psychic phenom-na. I had not invited a ny of these ex-eriences that I knew of. Th ey hadmply come to me.

Wh at re al ly had happe ned wa s, I had nlocked hidden powers within myself that I now every human being possesses, and had jugmented my five physical senses with ther senses just as bona fide, legitimate, nd natural as touch, taste, smell, sight, nd hearing. 1 hat I had help in unlock-ng those hidden powers I do not deny.evertheless, nothing had happened to

me that has not happened to hundreds of ther people, but only very rarely dohev talk about it.

Wh at those hidden powe rs are, and whv

maintain that they are bona fide, legi-mate, and natural I shall have to leave.ut they had suddenly shown me thatfe is not at all the ordinary, humdrum,

hreemeaisadav thing that I had alwaysccepte d. Its essence or its meaning iso vast and fine and high and beautifulhat it overwhelmed me, and a recogni-on of it performed a sort of recreation ine that made me feel I was actually not

he same fellow I had been just before.M y desire to explain what I mean bv

his is almost an ache within me at thisoment. But , for some uncanny reason.

Words are not the med ium to co nv ey . Thou ght doesn't convev it. Feeling

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I a p p l i e d Unguentine freely . . . The doctor s a i d ,

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n xL / 1 ST I N C U 1 S M E D

S A F E G L A R D 1 N G

I N V E S T M E N T F I N D S

siHCt

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A i N T S j A S Y 9

H o l d P a s tin this new age to

an old, old principle

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H o o v e r i z e , a e r o s t a t, e t c . ,

t hi 9 “ S u p r e m e A u t h o r i t y ”

Webster’s N ew International Dictionary Cont ai ns an ac c u rat e answe r ,4A2.0UU Entries , 2.700 P a g a i ,12.1X10 Biog raph i ca l name s ,3 2 . 0 0 0 G e o g r a p h i c a l su b je ct s , 0 ,0 0 0 I I l u a t r a l l o n a .Re gu l ar and Indi a P ap e rI-di l ions. \Vrite for specimenp age s , e t c . . me nt i oni ng T heAmerican to

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doesn ' t convex it . I he "m e t i l . i t is r i le

Bil l I YIIcx idcnt i rv can convex ’ i t onlv

b y benre. and the fact that I am gets it to

\ ou.i s t ha t l a s t a n o n se n s ic a l s t a t e m e n t 1

We l l , 1 hop e I ' m no r cr a c ke d . Al l 1 ca n

sav is , that I a•no-ic bv e x pe r ie n c e t ha t

the re is a gr eat, ox erpoxx eri ng ex ist ence

o u t s id e o f \\ hat xxe call L if e — t ha t I h a v e

be e n m i t a n d v . , i t — t ha t ha v in g be e n in

i t ha s e n d o w e d m e w i t h c e r t a in c a pa c i t ie s

t ha t ha v e t ra n s f o rm e d m y x x l io le c o n c e pt

o f t i l e u n iv e r se a n d , so m e o f m y f r ie n d s

a re k in d e n o u g h t o a d d . ha v e t ra n s f o rm e d

m e — p h y s i c a l l y a s w el l a s m e n t a l l y a n d

spi r i t u a l l y .

I ' IR S I dramatic physical reaction1 * was a sudden change in the comp o-nents of my body. I d iscovered tlvatmiraculously I had lost mv "nerves."

Lver since childhood 1 had lived un-der such a tremendous nervous tensionthat it had kept me under weight, put linesin my face and an edge on my voice, shat-tered me psychologically so that opposi-tion of any kind infuriated me and mademe want to crash through it like an army tank Hattening out a breastwo rks. At -tacks of nervous indigestion were so com-mon that I no longer gave them thought.

Suddenly all this had departed.

I was peaceful inside . And the ch ange soon beg an to ma nifest

itself in concrete form. One day in mv office I took a package of cigarettes frommv desk. About to apply a light to oneoi them, I heart! a mice say as gently as any learned mother might caution a careless son , "Oh, Bill, give up vour cigarettes!” And eve n bef ore it bad occur red to me th atno one was present in the Hesh to addressme thus audibly, I answered: "All right!"and tossed the package into the nearby

wa st eb as ke t. I went all that da y wi th ou tsmoking. Next morning, again, I readiedlor my tobacco tin across on mv desk toload up my corncob. It nets knocked tram my hands teilh a slap that tossed-il itpicard

in the air and deposited it bottom uptearil at my Jeet icith the tobacco spilled out. Nocautioning tins time. But I knew!

I haven't smoked tobacco in any formfrom that day to the present— this aftertwenty years of smoking a dozen cigars aday, lighting one from the butt of theother. Moreover, 1 haven’t had the slight-est ill effect nor did I go through the ago-nizing torture of "breaking off." I justdidn’t smoke anv more— didn't have thenervous urge—didn’ t even give tobaccoa thought.

1 he tame strange prohibition seemedto shut down on coffee, tea, alcohol, andmeats. I endured not the slightest dis-tress in giv ing thes e items up. I hev simp ly ceased to exist for me. And, in-

ve rs el y, a st ra ng e ne w sensat ion beg an tomanifest itself in my muscles and organs.

I had the glorious feeling of physicaldetachment from the handicaps of bodily matte r. No form of bodily exercise seemedto take energy that I had consciously tosupply. I had always been slightly stoop-shouldered. W ithout any unusual exer-cise, my spine straightened of itself, so tospeak.

Al ong wi th this ph ys ic al phenom enon we nt the unex pl ai na bl e fa cu lt y o f wit h-standing fatigue. If I wearied myself bv prolonged physical labor, it was thehealthy weariness of boyhood that over-

took me. and a sound night's sleep xvrcomplete readjustment. On thehand, I found I could sit at my

wri te r tw elve hours at a str etc h, ifsary, with hardly a muscle protI had suffered consistently from insever since a period in my twentiesI work ed as police repo rte r on a mnew spa per . Now I went to bed sleep.

With thi s physi ca l al terat ion cdifferent feeling toward those arounI lus pe rhaps was the most asto

afterm ath of the whole adventuretainly it appeared to have convincfriends that some extraordi nary thioccurred, since it dramatized my rnation, so to speak, and gave them thing to perceive with their senses.

I discovered, for instance, tcouldn’t show any more nervous bity to those with whom I came dcontact. I recall specifically that jfore my strange experience I hadan unfortunate investment in a ch

western re st aura nt s. I wa s striv wi th dr aw xvith mi nimum loss.banks and bankers had refused to cmy assistance in order to lubricasituation and help hold the propotogether till a purchaser more comin the food b usiness th an m ysel f

be procured. I submit that I hadchance to be incensed at them fassisting me, for my bank account hinto thousands upon thousands of and the conventional banking advicaid at the right moment would havthe whole commercial ordeal only ing incident.

months before I would hav‘ so fighting mad that my hatredsort of trea tment and m y loath"bloated capitalists who showedselves only fairweather friends”have made me physic ally ill. In formerly prided myself on being hater. But somehow, worried tu

wa s, I had n’ t the sl ight est ill willthese banking people, and I wentand pulled my proposition out of t

wi th ou t thei r finan cia l aid. And, in ve rsel y, whe n the si

came to the surface and others hethe fight I was making, I was

whel med by th ei r ma ni fe st at io ns o wil l and th ei r prac ti ca l ass is tancethe first time in my experience

we re goin g ou t of thei r wa y to pservices for me, to counsel me, to ssociety, to make me and my problemxvith the mselv es— yes, even to ounsoli cited loans . I think this amamore than the strangeness of my phrebirth. At first I thought it mighsomething to do with a resentmen

persons held toward the bankers whabandoned me just the moment ashow ed on my horizon. I thoughmight be acting in a sort of sympatnursing their own barked knucklesI became azvare that some of themheard of my predicament, and that sme. Wh at on earth had gotten inthat they were so interested in me activities?

I came through to New York we ek s la te r to men d li te ra ry fencrenew some sagging editorial acances. I was not at all prepared attent ion I got. It had neve r happ



w o rry this w ay

e before. 1 was utterly at a loss. I disvered that some sort of invisible walltween me and the rest of the world had Ien razed.It is embarrassing to dilate on this

ate of affairs and the altered socialations maintaining now with friends

ho were formerly only acquaintances.And yet—deep down underneath it allfrom the very first I have had instince understanding. And that undernding has been growing in clarityery day and hour since that epochalght in the bungalow.I must concede that it increasingly

mprises many factors and revelationshich I am constrained from reporting, i

ll, there are conclusions and equationsmay draw that have a universality ofcplication. vx

W HAT is this thing which happenedto me, and why did it happen?

First, I believe my subconscious hunr after what the Bible terms “the thingsthe Spirit”—that is, the sincere desirepenetrate behind the mediocrity of

ree-meals-a-day living and ascertain ;hat mystery lies behind this Golgotha

Existence—attracted to me spiritual jces of a very high and altruistic order, ;

ho aided me in making a hyperdimen- ,

nal visitation. I believe such hunger |ll always attract such forces.Second, it goes without saying thatving made such a visitation and havg had certain questions concretely anered by those I confronted in that

mension, my subconscious (or for thatatter conscious) knowledge of what theurth Dimension is, and means, and

hat can be done within its area, underok to operate first upon my physicaldy and to bring about the rejuvenation

hich subsequently came to me. Andt I can no more explain the Fourthmension with words than I can conveya man blind from birth the redness of

e color red. I know what it is myself,

I know what redness is. I can see howinterpenetrates Matter, constitutinge “inside” of it, so to speak, and howojections from it must come out the rerse of what we know them on the physi

plane. But I can no more make itelligible to the average reader than

nstein can explain Relativity to a groupmen in a smoking car, all of themfamiliar with advanced mathematics.Third, these experiences immediatelyvealed to me that there is a world ofbliminal or spiritual existence, internetrating the ordinary world in whichost of us exist as ordinary two-leggedmericans full of aches and worries, and at this subliminal world is the real world —

e world of “stem reality” if you will;at it is waiting for the race to learn of itd “tap” its beneficent resources, witht waiting for what we call physicalath; that our ‘Mead” dear ones are exent in it—alive, happy, conscious, andaiting for us to join them, either atath or any time we reach that stage ofirituality where we can make contact j

th them.I have seen my own there and havesited with them!Understand thoroughly—I am not airitualist, an Occultist, or a Psychicsearcher in the ordinal meaning of

ose terms. I am not trying to convert

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:1 nvoile to anyt hin g. I’ m simpl y tell ing yon th at so methi ng hap pened to me which was not con sc iously sc lt m vi ted; th at my friends attest to an even greater altera-tion's having taken place m my personality than I am capable of feeling from within.

TH E R E is in everv human heart ahunger and thirst for the tilings of the

spirit, but in many of them this desire hasbeen so embalmed with the poisons of

wo rr y, do ub t, fl eshly des ire , st rugg le to at-tain the wherew ithal for physica l sur-

vi va l, th at for all practica l pur pos es it nolonger exists.

But the day is coming in the evolutionof the race when spirituality is going tobe the whole essence of life, instead of the world’s present materialism. Hereand there have always been those who, by their unusual visions, selfinvited or other-

wise , mig ht be cal led monitors fo r the restof us— showing us what we all may attainif we so order our lives and thinking as tohe susceptible to such revelations.

I believe that Nature— God— UniversalSpirit—give the Great Cause any name

you wil l— is ta ki ng thi s meth od of con-ferring unusual experiences upon these“ monitors ,” to give the whole race an

inspiration by which it may quicken itsspiritua l pace. Ther e is nothing any moreprohibitive, morally or ethically, to ex-

ploration of these new great FieReal Reality than to exploration fields of radio or atomic energy. Ithe Great Cause intends that we shplore them.

At an y ra te , wh et he r I am ri wrong, I kn ow th at for a limited timnight last year out in California my ual entity left my body and went

wh ere— a concrete place wh ere I talk, walk about, feel, and see; wheswers were returned to questiondressed to physically dead people,

have checked up in the waking worclarified for me the riddle of earthistence.

I know there is no Death becaua manner of speaking, I went throuprocess of dying, came back into myand took up the burden of earthly again. I know that the experienmetamorphosed the cantankerousmont Yankee that was once Bill Pand launched him into a wholly difuniverse that seems filled with nbut love, harmony, health, good hand prosperity.

W hat ’s th e an sw er to that? There is no answer, except that it

be accepted as inevitably as I am for

accept the awareness of my own eI know because I experienced.Further deponent sayeth not!

DO YOU KNOW HOW to apply for a job? Can you w rite a letteapplication tha t will get results? Do you know how to ma ke the bof yourself if an interview is gran ted? These and m any o ther qutions pertinen t to the always intere sting su bjec t of getting a job covered next mon th in an article by Albert Edward Wigga m. Evyear more than one million young folks are ready to make thfirst venture in self-support. Here ’s som ething to help them ; hesom ething , too, to help the older folks who are looking for bigger chan

Can You Say “No”?

[Continued from page jp)

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following week another alumnus recom-mended me to the secretary of theMerchants' Association, and with thatmV career as a bright and promising New

Yorker wa s st ar te d.“ I looked over the citv carefully before

choosing my apartment, and selected apart of town inhabited by the rich and in-fluential. I attended a successful church,and put my name up for membership inthe University Club. At election time 1got out and worked. I spoke from soapboxes (there is always a dearth of speakers)and rang doorbells. I started at the bottomof the organization and did the dirty w ork;and when I had served three years Ithought I was entitled to recognition, so Ibraced the district leader for the nomina-tion to the Assembly, and he let me have

it.”He paused and looked at me quizzically.“ I suppose tha t when you write inter-

vi ew s wit h succ essful men th ey are notusually as frank as this,” he said.

“ Not often,” I answered. “ They don’tusually take the public quite so far behindthe scenes, or show quite as much of the

machinery.”“ I don’t want you to think that I was

a bluffer or merely a selfadvertiser, or a

friends, and I did bea t the tomtom of my tent whenever occasion oBu t I worked . Lor d, how I workedfirst ten years ! And the work had

wa rd . At fo rt y I wa s a pa rt ne r in class firm. I had a beautiful wife asplendid children, a house in the cand a house in town. I was an exmof the State Senate, entitled to bdressed as ‘Senator’ the rest of m

And 1 wa s a we ll k no wn figure i Yo rk. Wh o cou ld poss ib ly as k for Wh ere wa s th e we ak sp ot in my sit uHow could such a nice ja r of oinpossibly hold a fly?”

“ Th at ’s exactly what I ’d like to kI said. "Y o u seemed to have everin the world, and suddenly you uleft. Where .:'as the f ly?”

HE WAS silent for several minutesing hard on his cigar. The n he

and walked over to the bookcase andown a big book. He laid it out table, and 1 saw it was a sort of comtion diary and s crapbook— big filled with notes, typewritten memoinvitations, programs, and so on.

“ The f lv vas just this , ” he said: started something that I couldn’t s

seven minutes in eternity (1929)

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