I am learning all the time. The Teacher is very active in helping me. When I am absolutely certain of my hold upon your hand, I shall have much to say about the life out here. LETTER VII A LIGHT BEHIND THE VEIL MAKE an opening for me sometimes in the veil of dense matter that shuts you from my eyes. I see you often as a spot of vivid light, and that is probably when your soul is active with feeling or your mind keen with thought. I can read your thoughts occasionally, but not always. Often I try to draw near, and cannot find you. You could not always find me, perhaps, should you come out here. Sometimes I am all alone: sometimes I am with others. Strange, but I seem to myself to have quite a substantial body now, though at first my arms and legs seemed sprawling in all directions. As a rule, I do not walk about as formerly, nor do I fly exactly, for I have never had wings; but I manage to get over space with incredible rapidity. Sometimes, though, I walk. Now, I want you to do me a favour. You know what a difficult job I often had to keep things going, yet I kept them going. Don’t you get discouraged about the material wherewithal for your work. Work right ahead, as if the supply were there, and it will be there. You can demonstrate it in one way or another. Do not feel weak or uncertain, for when you do you drag me back to earth by force of sympathy. It is as bad as grieving for the dead. LETTER VIII THE IRON GRIP OF MATTER TO a man dwelling in the “invisible” there comes a sudden memory of earth. “Oh!” he says. “The world is going on without me. What am I missing?” It seems almost an impertinence on the part of the world to go on without him. He becomes agitated. He is sure that he is behind the times, left out, left over. He looks about him, and sees only the tranquil fields of the fourth dimension. Oh, for the iron grip of matter once more! To hold something in taut hands! Perhaps the mood passes, but one day it returns with redoubled force. He must get out of the tenuous environment into the forcibly resistant world of dense matter. But how? Ah, he remembers! All action comes from memory. It would be a reckless experiment had he not done it before. He closes his eyes, reversing himself in the invisible. He is drawn to human life, to human beings in the intense vibration of union. There is sympathy here--perhaps the sympathy of past experience with the souls of those whom he now contacts, perhaps only sympathy of mood or imagination. Be that as it may, he lets go his hold upon freedom and triumphantly loses himself in the lives of human beings. After a time he awakes, to look with bewildered eyes upon green fields and the round, solid faces of men and women. Sometimes he weeps, and wishes himself back. If he becomes discouraged, he may return--only to begin the weary quest of matter all over again.