Page 5 - The.Unobstructed.Universe
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intellectual conflict.


Some twenty years of exploring with Betty beyond the known frontiers of 
present consciousness had lifted from me most of the conventional ideas 
as to death. I had come to have no faintest feeling of it as final and 

irrevocable separation. Nevertheless, I found on April 5, 1939, that the 
even greater number of years--thirty-five of them--spent with her close 
companionship in exploring the odd and wild comers of this, our earth, 

had sharpened rather than dulled my sense of the immediate separation. We 
had been more closely knit together than most. During those years of 
companionship, crammed as they were to the brim with journey and 

adventure, from then unknown Central Africa to the wildest of Alaska, we 
were apart only three times: twice when I was on African expeditions 
inadvisable for her, and throughout my service in the first World War.


Now, in the conventional phrase, I had become a man who had "lost his 
wife." The loss was more than that of personal companionship, close and 

warm as that had always been. It was also the loss of the one I had long 
recognized as the more important member of our working team. When I left 

that little house, in the California foothill town, to stand alone in the 
moonlight, beneath the stars, it seemed to me that my part of our 
greatest adventuring--that in the Unknown--had calamitously ended. For I 

honestly believed it impossible for me to carry it forward alone.

You see, in addition to our other, and richly abundant, activities, Betty 

and I, since March 17, 1919, had been exploring another land, that unseen 
land of mystery from which, it used to be said, "no traveler returns." We 
doubted that. Betty had visited that land, and had returned, many times.


It was her reports of these, her explorations, which made up the body of 
the work I now felt so impossible without her, and so untimely broken 

off.

We had accomplished something, we thought; and what we had done had 

already found print in four books; but it had seemed to us both that 
there was still a strong lead onward to something culminating, something 
Betty had not yet reached. So she fought hard to stay; and I fought hard 

to keep her. And it had looked like a winning fight until the very last.

2.


The four books were these:


Credo, a preliminary volume issued in 1925, in which, without revealing 
its actual source, I presented the practical aspects of the philosophy 
received psychically through Betty from "the other side";


Why Be a Mud Turtle?, 1928, in which I reported further teachings of the 

same philosophy that seemed to me so applicable to modern living that it 
was actually unfair to withhold them from our growingly complicated 
world--but again without explaining the origin of the concepts;


The Betty Book, 1937, in which I threw my hat over the modern public's 
materialistic windmill and wrote frankly of "the excursions of 'Betty,' a 

psychic intimately known to me and of absolute integrity, into the world 
of 'other consciousness,' and of the communications received by her...in 
a condition of trance or otherwise...from forces which I have ventured to 

call 'the Invisibles.'" But even so, it was only my own hat I threw. I 
refrained from stating in so many words that "Betty" was in reality 
Elizabeth Calvert Grant White, my own wife.






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