They tried, often without avail, to comfort and aid the dear ones, their own states of mind and grief over the separation preventing them from effectively ministering to their loved ones. They soon became aware that the aid could not be material, that spiritual strength and consolation must be from spiritual sources and that they might, if themselves strong in spirit, move upon the minds of others in human life to aid those dear to them.
It was a wonderful sight to behold the ministering spirits succoring, comforting, instructing those thus suddenly thrust into spirit states; none but those endowed with the Divine Gift of loving compassion—like a Florence Nightingale or a Clara Barton—could so successfully aid those spirits thus ruthlessly torn from their human ties and forms. It is an awful sight! Yet the spirit “Rescuers” are there! The “Red Cross” of the skies finds its way to those who need the help and guidance.
In a measure the Soldiers, all who must go to war on land or sea, are better prepared for the sudden change than those hurled into spirit life by “accident” of shipwreck or other disaster, or by volcanic or earthquake shock. The Soldier knows that he is to confront possible and even probable physical death—and being thus prepared often is less surprised and shocked when he finds himself “out of his body.” Yet, wherever the need may be, the “strong helpers” are there: above every scene of human sacrifice, whether Cataclysmic, “natural causes” or the result of human ignorance and neglect, or the self-seeking aggression of war, there are they—the dear ones, the strong ones, the saving ones!
All cannot be aided to at once perceive the new-found condition: everything must depend on the degree of spiritual preparedness, which is often greater among the humble and lowly—who have a line of simple life, simple love, simple duty to follow than among the more complex mental and moral states of the “leaders.” The real state, spiritually, determines the “condition” of the spirit in spirit life.
Nor were the “clouded” and “shadowed” scenes of Earth life found alone above the lines of battle. There were sometimes deeper shadows among the scenes of “pleasure” and “mirth,” mocking splendor of wealth and its opposite of want, squalor, misery, the toll of human sacrifice is not always in the “death” of the body. There are vortices more terrible than the volcano’s fiery breath or earthquake’s yawning mouth; the palace often seemed more densely shadowed than the hovel; while the dwelling, though a cottage, brightened with Love shone out like a star of splendor.
“Spiritual knowledge, the unfoldment of the highest from within, this alone can change the ‘shadowed states’ of Earth into brightness. Every life must be reached; every mind touched and awakened by the spirit; the ‘good’ that is within each must be brought forth.”
Turning for Respite
From the storm-scenes of contending forces, from the darkness of Spiritual night, from the uncertain states, like dim twilight, one ever turns in spirit to the Beloved, to the groups of loved and loving ones that constitute the “Home of the Spirit.” “Spiritual rest is change,” respite from witnessing the unhappy conditions, the shadows of spiritual states that one cannot at once remedy. “Rest” is not idleness: communion, companionship, working together for those who can be aided—this is rest. The “Home Group” ever intent upon ministering wherever and whenever needed, afforded the respite sought. Such memories of Earth-experiences as had been kept alive in the sacred altar-flame of true affection and home ties; such interchange of Ideals and experiences as the later years had brought; such knowledge of the blending of the spirit and the mortal states, the guardianship and ministration of the loved arisen ones over those in Earth-forms, this was rest. Blessed respite; blessed communion; one would never be ready, it would seem, to part with such companionship.
Nor do we ever “part” with the truly loved. Whatever duties we must perform for those in spirit or human states, those most in accord, those nearest and dearest are ever with us “whether in or out of the body.”
Our human phrases, and even our usual thoughts seem superficial, weak and puerile when endeavoring to describe the divine realities of the Spirit. We never “part”; we can never be “absent” from the Beloved. Yet the shadows of human existence: “time and sense,” and outward “change” and “circumstances” are upon those who make “the house of clay” the limit of their mental and spiritual possessions.