Читать книгу Paradise Regained - TNT - Страница 7

AS WE returned to the house after parting with Omar and his companion, we saw that Roger had left his couch and was now leaning out of the window. We waved to him, and he waved back.

‘It looks as though he’s completely regained his vigor,’ I remarked to Ruth.

‘There’s no doubt of it, I should say.’

‘And I should say what’s completed his “cure” is Omar’s visit. Did you notice how he held the boy’s hand? If that wasn’t charging him with vitality I’m much mistaken. Now isn’t that just like Omar.’

There was no question that a great change had been wrought in the lad for he stood in the doorway as we drew near with every appearance of youthful buoyancy. No longer was that slight languidness to be seen, so common in such cases.

‘Well, Roger,’ said Ruth, ‘you look ready for anything.’

‘That’s how I do feel, Ruth. Now, Monsignor, the old brain has got clear, and I want to know lots of things.’ He grasped an arm of each of us, and held us in a firm grip.

‘Omar certainly has given you strength, judging by the pressure,’ I observed. He laughed, and it was good to hear him, for it showed more than anything else could, that the lad was now clearly himself, and that our task thenceforward would be the simple one of introducing him to the wonders of the spirit world, always an enjoyable occupation, in spite of the fact that we had gone through a similar performance times without number.

‘Come along, my boy, and let’s start on the roof.’

‘On the roof? What on earth do we want to go climbing on the roof for?’

‘On earth, Roger, my lad, no reason at all. However, I know what you mean. Come along and wait till you get there before making any rude remarks about it. Now then, to the roof!’

We mounted the stairs to the upper floor. Here there is a passage, and about half-way along it is a small bay, in which a brief flight of stairs leads to a door onto a flat roof. Here was presented to the astonished gaze of Roger a most superb view of the countryside, a vast territory extending far away into the distance.

‘Now, Roger; cast your eyes over this. Did you ever see anything like it, or even remotely approaching it in beauty?’

The boy was silent for a minute or two as he turned in a full circle. ‘Gracious heavens,’ he said.

‘And that’s just about it,’ said Ruth, ‘those two words are a complete description, if ever there was one.’

‘Now, Monsignor, Ruth—I don’t care which of you—but one of you must tell me what all this is. All those people, for instance. What are they doing?’

We could see many people interspersed about the countryside, some close at hand, others at a distance; some in small groups, others in larger, and individuals either seated or walking alone.

‘All these folks you see are going about their various business, or perhaps no definite business at all. Look there at that little group sitting beneath the big tree. They may be doing all manner of things, from merely having a pleasant, gossipy chat among friends, or perhaps one of them is doing what Ruth and I are doing now for you - introducing you to the spirit world. Whatever it is all these folks are doing, no one will tell them they shouldn’t be doing it - and move them on!

‘Of absolute, positive idling, I don’t think you’ll find a trace, Roger, because no one, as far as I’ve been able to find out— and Ruth and I have poked about in all sorts of places—no one ever feels the slightest inclination to do nothing simply by virtue of an indolent nature. There are no indolent natures here. We are always occupied in some way, but that doesn’t mean that this is a life of eternal work as opposed to the old— and still current—idea of eternal rest. We all, every one of us, have our time off, and no one will come and tell us it’s time to start work again in the earthly sense. We have all the recreation we need and desire, and we come and go as we please. What Ruth and I are doing now, here on this roof, is a very pleasant form of recreation to us both, and a pleasant change from our chief occupation. It might look as though we were idling the time away—to anyone who didn’t know. But, you know, Roger, there are millions of us here— with no over-crowding either, as you can see—so that even as there’s plenty to do, there are plenty of people to do it.’

‘Well, that’s simple enough, Monsignor, but that makes me wonder what I’m going to do.’

‘Then stop wondering, my dear,’ put in Ruth. ‘Good gracious, why you’ve only just arrived here. Wait till you’ve been here as long as we have, then you’ll see there’s not always such a terrific hurry to be getting on with something.’

‘How long have you been here, then, Ruth?’

‘Oh, getting on for forty years.’

‘And you, Monsignor?’

‘About the same time. There might be ten minutes’ difference between us! You see we are really seasoned residents.

‘How long has Omar been here?’ Ruth and I exchanged glances, and there was a roar of laughter.

‘Omar has been in the spirit world some two thousand years, Roger. I think I had better withdraw what I said about being seasoned residents.’

The lad enjoyed our trifling joke, and so was helped along the road of self-assurance and well-being.

‘Now, Ruth, point out the sights to Roger.’

‘Do you see that large building with the blue beam of light coming down on it? That’s a home of rest for people immediately after they have arrived here. You could have gone there. It’s very beautiful, and you would have been well looked after, with every kindness in the world.’

‘Then why was I brought here?’

‘You’re not sorry, are you?’

‘No, no; I could never be that.’

‘The suggestion of bringing you here came from the particular person who sends us on our various errands in helping folk, when they are crossing into this world. He thought it would be a good idea, and we shouldn’t dream of questioning his wisdom. It would not be the first time this has happened, by any means; many people have caught their first peep of the spirit world while reclining on that couch downstairs. It is good for them, and it is good for us.’

Roger pointed to the houses of all kinds that could be seen, some almost buried among the trees, others in more open ground. ‘Whose are those?’ he asked.

‘They belong to the folk here. Once you have the right to possess a home there is nothing to prevent you from having one. Everything is owned upon the same terms here, no matter what it is—even your spirit clothes. That does not mean that you might have to walk abroad naked, because by some mischance you had not earned the right to possess clothes! The natural laws here work in a rational way.’

I broke into the conversation: ‘It’s not by any means everyone who owns a house here, Roger. Some people don’t want to be bothered with one—though bothered is not the exact word to use, as no home, whether large or small, can possibly be any bother in the old earthly sense. But there are folk who don’t feel the necessity for a house, and so they don’t have one. Perfectly simple. To begin with, the sun is always shining in these and other regions, there’s no unpleasant wind or cold. It’s always the same steady, unvarying, genial warmth you can feel now. So, there’s nothing from which we need protection as on earth, in the way of the elements. As for privacy, well, there are myriads of spots—you can see some of them from here—that will provide all the solitude you are ever likely to want.’

‘What are those large buildings in the far distance?’ our friend asked.

‘Those are the various halls of learning in the city. In fact, that is the city. Everything in the way of knowledge is to be found somewhere there, and a thousand accomplishments can be gained there. You can become a technician in any of the varied occupations that are all part of the life of the spirit world.’

So we went on, pointing out innumerable things to Roger, explaining this, providing reasons for that, and bringing a clearer understanding to a young mind that had left the earth—as so many do—with no knowledge whatever of the most important part of the Universe—the spirit world. He could see, spread out before him into seemingly illimitable space, the stupendous countryside, with the bright verdure, the rich colors abounding upon all sides, the gentle undulations leading to the glistening water of lake or river. The carefully laid-out gardens, the flowers, the birds, all heavenly nature—with the blue sky above.

I suggested that we now move downstairs. Roger admired the neatness and solid comfort of the various rooms he peeped into on the way down, and when we had at last reached the lower room that he now knew so well, he broached a matter that we could see was on his mind.

‘Where, Monsignor, shall I have to live?’

‘You won’t have to live anywhere in particular, Roger,’ I answered. ‘You may live where you like, though I understand you have no house of your own. You could have one if you wished, but do you? It would be rather like living in solitary state, although you would have plenty of visitors one way and another. You couldn’t really be lonely here, and you have but to step outside your door to find people who would soon drive any loneliness away. Still, Ruth and I know what you mean, so I would like to make this suggestion if it falls in with your own ideas in the matter. Would you care to live in this house with us? You see the size of it—there’s plenty of room, and to spare. There are all sorts of little things to interest you, without having to go outside. Stay here for as long as you wish, and be sure of one thing: never will you outstay your welcome.

‘We cannot foresee the absolute future, and time, as you will have guessed by now, is of little consideration. Ruth and I, with Edwin, whom you’ve not met yet, have been doing this work, among other things, for years now. We seem likely to continue for more and more years yet. We are none of us tired of it. Even so, if we changed our work, we should still wish to have our house here.

‘Spiritual progression is another matter, Roger. When we go higher—or farther along the road—we may move into other quarters. We need not think of that at present. Join our small household. In other words, stay where you are. That shouldn’t be difficult as you have no “goods and chattels”.’

The boy started to express his gratitude, but we stopped him. There was no need for words; his thoughts were sufficient.

‘That’s settled, then,’ said Ruth, ‘and now, Roger, tell us what you think of things.’

Our friend seated himself in a comfortable chair, and looked considerably puzzled. ‘What I can’t make out,’ he said, at length, ‘is how all this you’ve shown me squares up with religion? I wasn’t taught much, and never knew exactly what to expect. . .’

‘You’re not the first to wonder that, Roger. Millions do the same. Ruth and I did so. We were in no better case than yourself. What it comes to is this: when you are on earth, this whole spirit world is regarded as the “life after death”, the next world”, and is treated solely from the religious standpoint, except by a comparatively select few. I call them select because those few possess the truth—not all the truth, naturally, but sufficient for absolute comfort. The religions of the earth have assumed rights over this life to which they are not entitled. The passing from earth to the spirit world is not a religious affair whatever, it’s a purely natural process, and one that cannot be avoided. Living a good life on earth is not a religious matter. Why should it be? Have you seen signs of that sort of thing here, Roger? Yet who will dare to say we are not living good, decent lives here?

‘Then take the total number of religions on earth. There are thousands among the Christians alone, and all believing something different from each other.’

‘I read somewhere that no one religion possessed all the truth, but that each had a bit of it, so that taken all together they’d have the truth between them. Isn’t that so, Monsignor?’

‘That is so. I’ve heard of that theory, but think what it involves. First, how are you going to tell what is the truth among all the rest of the claims of any one particular Church. Is one to be content with that one fragment, if it can be discovered, or try to do the impossible, and join all the religious bodies spread over the earth, and so become possessed of all the truth—though you’d have the deuce of a job in sorting the false sheep from the truthful goats?’

The boy gave a loud laugh.

‘You can laugh, Roger, my boy, but that’s what it comes to in the end.’

‘Sitting here in this chair, in this room, actually in the spirit world seems an awful long way from sitting in a church on Sunday, as I used to—sometimes.’

‘Only sometimes?’ put in Ruth; ‘that was naughty in one so young!’

‘I know what you’re thinking of,’ I said; ‘that Sunday churchgoing, with the clergyman, and the choir singing, and the sermon—and the collection, don’t forget that! Especially the sermons that didn’t seem to have any bearing on what you know now. How could it have, coming from the average minister? How could you expect a person—or a parson—to be able to instruct others on a particular subject, or on any subject, when the instructor knows literally nothing about it? That’s the real trouble. Ignorance, or lack of knowledge. Yet it is his job, the minister’s job, to know. I should have known, but I didn’t. A person in my position on earth should have been able to tell a person in Ruth’s position, or yours, Roger, all that we know at this moment. There are abundant opportunities for finding out.

‘What a mournful, miserable business it all is, when you come to think about it. Here is this magnificent world we’re living in, and yet on earth it has been shrouded and obscured. with a multitude of extraordinary beliefs, conditions, limitations, misconceptions, and I don't know what else besides. The one cannot be reconciled with the other. Like oil and water, they do not mix. Unlike those two substances, there is nothing with which to emulsify them, so to speak. They are not to be found.

Odd, isn't it, how the religions of the earth have assumed authority over us—so they think? They cannot regard us in terms of solid reality, of rational living, of breathing, working, playing, helping one another. They would look upon that bird you have there, Roger, as being too outrageous, too preposterous to bear thinking about, even remotely. Yet that little grey fellow is part of life in these lands, and a beautiful part of it, too. How many folk have their animal friends on earth as part of their very lives? Thousands, but the same thing would be denied to us here, if some people on earth had their way. It's not religious; it's not what one would look for in spiritual realms. It's not the kind of thing that God would allow, because it's too earthy and frivolous. It brings us back to that appalling angel I spoke to you about, Roger, when you had opened your eyes as you lay on the couch.

'The whole thing can be summed up in this way, Roger, my boy: the earthly religions know nothing about this world at all, about the life we live. They do not seem to be able to conjure up in their minds any sort of vision or image of what it might conceivably be. But they are certain of what it cannot be—upon what authority no one knows—that it cannot be anything like this at all. No man on earth would be prepared to suggest—if he were sane—that the only thing to look forward to is a life of doing nothing for all eternity, in a place or region that was simply vaporous, a void. The very thought of such an existence—and it would be barely that—would fill him with deep horror, and decide him that he would not wish to survive under such ghastly conditions. And no one could blame him.

'Now, Roger, let's go out and do a little visiting. Bring the bird with you. He could show you the way, without us. Come along.'