In Part 1 of this two-part series, I examined some cases of claimed "spirit writings" which seemed to show great skill beyond any we would expect from those that put the words down on paper. Perhaps the most astonishing case of possible "spirit writings" is the case of Patience Worth. In 1913 two women (Pearl Curran and Emily Grant Hutchings) sat at an Ouija board. The Ouija board soon spelt out messages claiming to be from someone named Patience Worth, such as this message:
"Many moons ago I lived. Again I come. Patience Worth my name."
There eventually followed over the years a huge quantity of very high quality writings that seemed to have arisen by paranormal means, including many poems and even novels such as the roughly 380-page novel Hope Trueblood and the roughly 600-page novel The Sorry Tale. They would only come when Pearl Curran was around. According to a book on the topic, Pearl was someone who "has a taste for literature, but is not a writer, and has never attempted to write anything more ambitious than a personal letter."
Some of the greatest poems of Patience Worth are to be found in the collection Light from Beyond. Here is an example, a very good free verse poem entitled "Ever the Pupil":
"Teach me. Teach me!
Let me never become so old
That my ears are not pits.
Teach me. Teach me!
Let every man become my teacher.
Let every sorrow speak deeply.
Let every joy inscribe me.
Teach me. Teach me!
For if I stop listening,
I shall stop forever!
Yea, the writing of the ages
Speaks Eternity as ever
Listening, ever waiting.
Teach me. Teach me!
Let me ne’er forget that I am a child;
That tomorrow is a secret,
A joyful secret, not yet imparted;
That Yesterday was a plaything
Which I loved, but left
Upon a pathway within a shadow.
Teach me. Teach me—
That I am a little child!
Let me be forever learning,
Ne’er forever yearning!"
Another very good poem in the collection is the poem The Typhoon, which takes on a deeper inspirational significance when you consider that the Mariner mentioned in the poem symbolizes not just a sea captain, but anyone of us facing some difficulty which may seem frightening but we are capable of successfully handling.
"Why need ye fear, O Mariner?
Why need ye fear?
The winds sing no new song, and the waves
Have spoken their words since time—
With them thou art familiar.
Why need ye fear, O Mariner?
The craft is thine, and each cunning trick
Of steering lies within thy brawn.
The wheel turns slow, eh, Mariner?
And the waters heavy swell.
Yon, faint coming, like a veiled lady
Rising from the sea—the storm!
Why need ye fear?
Baring thy breast to the gale,
Let the masts bend low and thy prow ride free!
What needst thou fear, O Mariner? -
Is the water black and yellow-lashed,
In venom tipped the waves; and the lightnings,
Like talons, grasp the waves and wring them dry,
And cast them back unto the sea!
What needst thou fear, O Mariner?
What needst thou fear?
The winds wail like shrieking mermaids
That disport some wanton land.
What needst thou fear, O Mariner,
Though they laxy their beauty o’er
- Thy very keel, and beckoning, tempt thy smile!
What needst thou fear, O Mariner?
For thou canst hear the flapping of the gulls
— And port is near!"
The last two lines sound a hopeful note, suggesting the Mariner facing a storm (who represents any one of us in a difficulty) will soon find some deliverance from his danger.
The poems of Patience Worth are overflowing with a rapturous love of nature and its wonders. Her poem "The Hastening Earth" is an example of her mastery when treating themes of nature and its wonders. Note the great coherence of the poem, in which every group of lines echoes the same theme of nature in motion:
"What is this urge, this hastening,
This lashing something which besets all creation?
I watch the moving clouds making their way
In haste across the summer sky,
Making away, away! To where, where?
I beheld a thrush burst forth from the hedgerow,
Carrolling, carrolling, letting free its song,
Making away, surely, surely. To where, where?
I saw the moon coming up over the somber eve,
Hastening, hastening through the fleecy clouds,
Urging them to make a free path for her tread;
Unto where, where?
I saw the sun press his golden lips
Upon the wood's flanks, and they
Flushed scarlet at his wooing.
But he, hastened up, up, up!
Unto the zenith but for one precious moment,
Then hastened downward—unto where, where?
And the summer! I saw her bind
Poppies within her golden locks,
And veil her blue eyes with the lace of cloudlets.
I saw her laugh upon the fields,
But for a little season, and, leaving,
The fields were haunted things, while she
Hastened, hastened on—to where, where?
Oh, the Spring was fretful, yea, weeping;
But the moon, and the stars, and the sun,
Wooing her, caused her to smile
But for that rare hour, then wane,
Leaving her gentle footfall but in the echoes,
As she hastened on—to where, where?
Oh, I am consumed with the urge!
What is this thing which beckons then?
I, too, feel that mystic touch upon me,
And I gird the loins of my spirit,
And make me ready for this journey—
Unto where, where?"
The case of the writings of Chico Xavier are another case of alleged spirit writings of impressive prowess. Francisco Cândido ("Chico") Xavier was born in 1910 in Brazil. From his teens Xavier claimed to be writing down speech that was dictated to him by spirits. By 1932 he had accumulated enough material to make a book, and his book of poetry "Parnassus from Beyond the Tomb" became a best seller. Xavier went on to produce more than 400 books. This was astonishing partly because his formal education seemed to have ended at the age of 13. We read this in the Psi Encyclopedia article on Chico Xavier:
"Much of his writing was done at public sessions, several of which were filmed showing him at work, his left hand covering his eyes and his right hand filling sheet after sheet of paper at extraordinary speed. More writing was done during Chico’s lunch break when he was working at his day job. Thus there was clearly no time for him to do any research, nor was there any local library where he could have done it. One of his early novels, set in Rome in the first century, contained such an abundance of details about Rome and its empire that a guide to the historical and geographical references in it ran to 157 pages and contained more than 450 entries. No plausible explanation of how Chico could have acquired such information by conventional methods has yet been given.
Also unexplained was the steady stream of personal messages given to those attending his public meetings, many of whom came in the hope of receiving news from their deceased loved ones. Again and again he would give precise details of their death, usually a premature one, sometimes not only giving the names of members of their family but signing off with nicknames – one young man named Milton ended his message as he used to do when alive with ‘1000 Ton’, the Portuguese word for one thousand being mil. A team of Spiritists from São Paulo managed to track down 45 recipients of such messages, and found that not only was every single statement attributed to the deceased communicators agreed to be accurate, but that much of the information they provided had never been made."
Chico reportedly gave away all of his royalties to charity. He was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1982, with a petition signed by two million Brazilians sent to the prize committee. The nomination documents described how over 100,000 had benefited from the donated royalties coming from Chico's books. Chico's funeral got more than 100,000 attendees or attempted attendees.
You can see some examples of Chico's work in the book "Poetry From Beyond the Grave," which can be read for free online using the link here. Below is an excerpt from one of the poems:
"Brethren, here I am again at your side!
I come from lucid, splendid spheres,
I have crossed gloomy roads
And starry, wondrous fissures,
Wielding the psalms of hope.
I could overcome abysses of gold and roses,
Fissures of dream and dark chasms,
Planets like vessels without pilots
On the oceans of Endless ether.
I have gazed the haunting Milky Ways,
Visions of eternal suns confused
Among fiery, distant stars;
I have seen prodigious stars firing
Harmonies of love and clarity,
And humanities among humanities
Populating the splendorous Universe...
I have rested on islands of repose,
In beautiful distant archipelagos,
Inhabited, enchanted palaces,
In retreats of calm and peaceful love,
Where the soil is gold and snow,
Where the darkness and the night are only
Memories of obscure worlds!
Where the flowers of undying affection
Do not wither as on Earth.
There, on these lucid, holy orbs,
Love, and only love, nurtures and gives life...
Death corroborates our faith,
Our deepest hopes,
Braking the veil that covers from our sight
The eternal landscape of the Universe,
And death points to us the sky, the immensity,
Where the happy soul grows grander,
Leading other souls in mazes
To the light, to life and love!"
Later in the book is a good poem entitled "Death":
"Silent maiden of sorrow,
Death has opened for me radiant cathedrals
Where hover the vaporous shapes
Of the forgotten land of Beauty.
In a deluge of lilacs and roses,
Sons of light, of another Nature,
That shaped in space the subtlety
Of the incense of luminous ships!
Monk of merciful look, calm and distant,
Brings to Earth the shy humming
Of the mansion of wondering stars...
Sister of peace and serenity,
That opened my eyes to immortality,
To the hope of all my days!"
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