“Rest! I was never stronger, and I am anxious for exertion. I feel mentally starved and crave thought food.”
“You will find no difficult task. To desire is to have, and you will soon become in sympathy with the thought-atmosphere of our home.”
Then one of our number, who was a poet, superior to us all, said he had had a singular and painful experience, and we demanded to hear it.
The Poet’s Story.—I had been enthroned, and as I came up the pathway leading to this eminence, I met a boisterous throng of people. Strange faces they had, and yet they were familiar. I looked closely, and imagine my surprise when I found they belonged to me. They were the thoughts I had expressed in my earth-life. Some were dark, repulsive and inexpressibly ugly, while others were exquisitely beautiful. What a horde they were, and though some were pleasing, the greater proportion caused my cheeks to blush with shame.
“Father! father!” they called, rushing toward me.
“Away!” I cried. “I know you not!”
“Then we will follow you. We belong to you, and wherever you go we will go. We will not desert you.”
“If this be so,” I cried in despair, “then I am burdened beyond endurance, and immortality becomes a curse. If I must remain with this throng of tormentors, reminding me continually of early follies, then extinction is preferable.”
What shall I do with this miscreant crowd, deformed and rude? I can not take them home to my companions. If these are embodiments of my earthly thoughts, how they would scorn me. If this is to be my retinue, then I must seek a new home where I am unknown. I must cast aside the companionship of this company. My punishment is terrible. I threw myself down in a paroxysm of grief and remorse. An angel came by, and pausing said:
“Would you escape from your thraldom?”