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Author : Pelley William Dudley
Title : Undying mind
Year : 1955

Link download : Pelley_William_Dudley_-_Undying_mind.zip

Chapter 1. THE GREAT MYSTERY OF YOU ! THE TIME has come, apparently, to write a book about you! Millions of books have been written about every subject under the sun, from Aardvarks to Zymotics , but no one has done a book about you as you are. I don’t mean a biography, although it would doubtless be quite as interesting as any other mortal’s biography. A biography is a described roster of events in which a person has been implicated. I’m speaking of a book that discusses not who you are but what you are. You would perchance declare, if the question were asked seriously and a serious answer expected, that you were an adult human being, either make or female, weighing anywhere between one hundred and three hundred pounds, white or black, rich or poor, educated or benighted, trying to hold your place in an earthly society where there are 2,499,999,999 other human creatures more or less like you. You might add your name, and your age, and a footnote that you have never been in jail and your Federal income tax was paid. This, you would assume, would be telling what you are. But I wish to go on record as declaring it is not what you are. I declare you are something new in this world! Never since the daw n if time has there been anybody exactly like you, and never again, throughout all the ages, will there ever again be anybody exactly like you. More than that, while you may describe yourself—to yourself—as a human being, I make the sincerest observation that such term is meaningless. Do any of us assuredly know what human beings are? Are they anything other than distinctive creatures? What kind of creatures? Just distinctive. But distinctive in regard to what? We shall see. A totally distinctive creature has attained to animate existence in this world of material substances and is known as… You. It is not attached physically to anything else. It can, by taking thought as we say, put itself into spatial movement and convey itself where it will. It can, when it takes more thought, stop such movement and remain in a state of rest for as long as it please. It can make impersonal mental decisions apart from bodily movement, compare this with that, be aware of shape, density and color without stirring from its place, know itself for an energy-wielding unit and feel the emotions of anger, chagrin, pity, embarrassment and pleasure, purely from impressions received through the so-called senses. Nobody actually knows—as I shall try to expound further on—precisely what the senses are. But they do convey motivations to the observant and deciding mind. As if this were not enough, this peculiar compilation of self -aware energy is marked differently than any other peculiar compilation of self-aware energy in Cosmos. The outer membrane of the physical self, that is to say the skin, has a tracing of tiny fleshly designs upon certain parts of it—the feet, the palms, the toe and finger balls—that are microscopically different from the tracings on the membranes of the 2,499,999,999 other animate creatures of similar general construction, and that unchangeably distinguish it so long as it exists. Lastly, Northrupp at Williams College in 1938 established that it displays—or operates at—an electrical rate or “frequency” that is incontestably its own. Not a mother’s son or father’s daughter of the other 2,499,999,999 so-called human beings on earth at the moment possesses exactly the same vibratory current. Every one of us has his own, and you have yours. Nature, or whatever cosmic cause brought your animate self into being, has gone to almost unbelievable care to distinguish you as something special to yourself… and this goes whether you are a millionaire businessman living on Park Avenue with a liveried chauffeur to drive you to and from the office or a bleary-eyed lout awaiting your turn at the Monday morning police line-up—or a salacious striptease artist disclosing your charms to an audience for a price or a plain-faced mother on the side street of a Midwest small town, dividing her concernments between the rising cost of Hamburg and her small fry’s croupy coughing. Nature, or whatever cause in Cosmos brought your animate self into being, makes no distinction between millionaires and “Lost Week-Enders” or glamorous demoiselles and care-distracted mothers. Each is a distinct product with a distinct role and destiny. It may occur to you occasionally, poignantly enough—especially in times like the present when the whole world seems turning bottom side up and all the queer things are coming to the top—that the entire business of living isn’t worth the effort; the race is one gigantic dud anyhow and the mortal drama plunging toward a debacle. Strange as it may seem to you for the moment, I’m not going to combat you on that, although I by no means concur in it. Before you reach that conclusion permanently, however, and maybe turn on all the gas burners, or dive out the tenth story window, or spatter your grey matter over some landlord’s perfectly good wall, I have the caprice to ask you to check over a lot of items about yourself, of which you may not be consciously aware. I want you to consider the stupendous thing you may be that has never occurred to you before, or been called to your attention since you have been born. Then if you wish to t hrust your pate in the gas-oven, or open the tenth story window and imitate a wingless bird, or spin the cylinder of your brother-in-law’s revolver and pull the trigger—with nothing in front of it but your own head—go ahead and exit. I think the chances are, however, that you won’t. ...