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Our Communion With the Unseen

The more enlightened view of death, considering it as one of the several significant events in life; the supreme experience, perhaps, and still as one phase among others—this more enlightened view reveals to us the permanence of all sympathetic social relations, and of the closer communion of friendship. The intercourse is continued in just the proportion which it held to the plane of spirituality. Does not this thought transform the terrible blankness and desolation of death to a radiant and attractive future instead?

The experience that comes when one who is nearest and dearest to us passes on into the unseen world is strangely significant. We at once realize that death is not the end of life, but merely one phase of experience in life, and its nature is to uplift and purify the friend left on this side, and to offer its absolute testimony to the persistence of the communion between the two—the one still an inhabitant of the visible world, the other of the unseen world. He who has gone on into the life just beyond is as real a personality as ever. Indeed, he is even more alive than before, having entered into the 'life more abundant.' He has simply gained the plane of finer and more intense vibration, and in proportion as one on this side lives in the spirit does he raise his own life to the possibility of correspondence with these more subtle forces. The communion that is held by conversation when both are in the visible world is simply changed to telepathy when one—or both—have gone on into the unseen.

For all of us, even in this part of life, are potentially, spiritual beings. Our physical senses are merely the conveniences adapted to their phase of life. Sight, hearing, and touch are merely the partial manifestation, on the visible plane, of the higher vision, hearing, and sensation of the spiritual faculties. Instead of its being true that the friend who has died cannot see or hear us longer, it is only true that he has come into the possession of vision and hearing that transcends all his experiences here. He can perceive to a degree beyond our realization. He can traverse space. He has entered into a more real world, of which we have as yet only recognized the merest intimations.

Now the way to bridge over the silence and separation of death is to establish correspondences. Let two persons who do not speak the same language meet, even in this world, and they can hold little communication. Or let two persons meet, one of whom is deaf, and there can be no satisfactory intercourse. To establish this correspondence with our friends in the unseen we must develop our own spiritual faculties. The spiritual perception, the spiritual vision, must be trained to recognize the more subtle and intense vibrations of that unseen life. It rests with us rather than with them. We can go forward, but they cannot go backward. Those who are free from the limitations of the physical body cannot return to the rudimentary senses of this plane; but those still on this plane may, to a great and to an increasing extent, project their latent spiritual faculties, and thus apprehend and perceive the life that is in the finer conditions beyond.

After a little time one will find himself transferring from the seen to the unseen all his imaginative visions of the friend who has gone to the higher life. He will not think of his friend as 'lost,' but as even more his own. Lowell expresses a profound truth when he says of death:

Now I can love thee truly,
For nothing comes between
The senses and the spirit,
The seen and the unseen.

Instead of being haunted by the dead form, the casket, the closing scenes, he begins to perceive the radiant spiritual presence. He is drawn more and more into the magnetism of the heavenly life. He begins to range himself, as the French say, on that side; to recognize the new basis of communion between himself and his friend. He feels the exquisite truth of the lines:

Such sweet communion had been ours,
I prayed that it might never end:
My prayer is more than answered now—
I have an angel for my friend.

The telepathic communion of spirit to spirit once established, one may go his ways in the most interesting and vivid companionship with his friend who is in the unseen. This companionship may be developed into the most conscious and real experience. The time has now come to live the divine life on earth. A vast spiritual wave is over the entire world, sweeping humanity upward to a higher round of the spiral. We are entering on a new cycle.

It is not that those dwelling on the spiritual side of life are dumb, but that we are deaf. The moment we begin to live the life of the spirit we enter into the sphere of their consciousness and are in touch with them as when they were here; the language is silent, but it is unmistakable. The replies or the suggestions that come, telepathically, from the unseen friend will be as distinct from one's own mind as are any words of another in ordinary conversational intercourse. The bridging over of the chasm we have called death—though it really is not a chasm or a gulf, but the mere change of condition rather than locality—the bridging over of this silence will be found to be mainly on this side of life, and the secret of it is simply to live in the spirit.

The true relations of friendship are on a very high plane. They have little to do with the magnetism of the senses; they rest on the attraction of spirit to spirit, and are governed by spiritual laws. Friendship is one of the permanent relations which has its rudimentary experiences in the mortal life, and is perfected in immortality.

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Lilian Whiting

  • Born on October 3rd, 1859 in Niagara Falls, New York and died in 1942
  • Author and journalist
  • Edited The Boston Traveler and The Boston Budget

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